#the unhappiness reeks from this house

[u-know-too-much]

my skill must be to bring misfortune to everyone i know. In a room full of people no one will pick you because youve forsaken the only person who will. No complete and happy family, not the least bit close to your relatives, your friends dont like you as much as they like each other, you cant even make new ones because youre oathetic like that. Cant voice out anything. After everything that happened, still cant stand up for yourself and move about to be better. How terrible of a person.

Even after youve gotten this far thinking youll get to see your dreams come true, you never seem to fail to be a failure.

[strangelysamantha]

break up with your gf ❀

steve harrington x reader.

warnings: infidelity, alcohol/drunk steve.

words: 1,447.

summary: in which steve has trouble in paradise, he goes to you for advice, and while your feelings are prominent, you're unsure of how steve feels about you. you urge him to break up with his girlfriend, since he is clearly very unhappy.

request: yes! from pm!

a/n: i need a speech to text setting except it just reads my mind instead. like and reblog if you enjoy. maybe drop a follow. asks are open, and i have alot of great stories in my drafts. thank you as always. <3

masterlist link

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you saw them in the hallways at school every day. you dreaded it. he sneaks up behind her, lifting her in the air. spinning her around, his hands tight on her waist. he'd spin her around, his full attention on her. the other students rushing to class, and all he'd care about is the brief five minutes he'd get to see her pretty face. small giggles would escape her lips, pure bliss commencing. he would pull her into a deep kiss, she happily kissed him back, her hands tangling in his brown fluffy hair. it was nauseating to watch. seeing them so entranced with each other, you slammed your locker shut, heading to class.

you didn't know why you couldn't leave him alone, let him be happy. have his little romance flourish and have him be satisfied, but something inside you craved his touch, his attention, a few times a month he would get too drunk. immediately his contact would appear on your phone, drunken words filled your screen. he was so sappy, talking about how his girlfriend didn't satisfy him enough. how he needed someone else that would please him fully. he asked if you could stop by to talk, while you hesitated, worried for a set up, you knew you would have regretted not going.

you knock twice, and he swings the door open. "thanks for coming." he got out of the way, welcoming you inside. you hurried through the door, the house was dim, most lights were off since it was so late. he led you to his room, gently shutting his door behind him. "why do you always come when i call?" he asks. his breath reeked of bourbon, and you started to wonder why you even gave him the time of day. "if you need someone, i will be here for you," is all you could say. he nodded.

"she just doesn't get me, yknow?" you follow along, glancing around the room. "it's like she wants me to be better, but in return i'm changing myself for her. she has me doing stuff i would have never done before," you tsk, "why stay if you are unhappy?" he ponders for a moment, "because," he pauses, collecting his thoughts. you wait silently, crossing your legs together. you mouth forms a straight line as he still hadn't given a reason for staying with her. "steve?" he looks back at you, halting his repetitive pacing. "i don't know why i stay, i guess i want it to work out..." he sits beside you on the bed. "you need to break up with your girlfriend." he stays silent after your comment.

you sigh, he places his head on your lap, and you run your hands through his hair. "if you're this unhappy now, how do you think you'll be happy down the line?" he takes a deep breath, your words settling ease over him. "i don't think she even loves me." his tone is laced with sadness, and your heart aches at his puppy dog eyes. "steve, you are very handsome. super funny, and charming. you will be able to find someone who truly deserves your time and energy." he closes his eyes, his hand wraps around your thigh. "what if i hurt her feelings?" you place your hand on his cheek. "but if you stay with her, knowing you aren't fully in it, and she finds out your leading her on, she might hurt more." he nods, appreciating your advice. he lays quietly in your lap; you look down at him. you notice his sleepy eyes and prominent eye bags. "you need rest, honey."

he moves to lay in the middle of the bed. you lift the blanket up, tucking him in. you get up to leave and he reaches for your hand. "stay." you nod, slowly sliding into bed with him. your nerves wash away when he cuddles you, spooning. he wraps his arm around your waist pulling you as close as he can manage. you close your eyes, your mind racing. despite all the times he talked about leaving, and moving on, he never actually did it. this was the third time you had went to steve for support, he'd tell you everything wrong, and any advice you'd give, he'd listen intently, and then immediately do the opposite.

despite how badly you wanted steve, you didn't want to always be a drunken late-night call. you actually liked him, and it was starting to feel like he didn't like you, let alone care about you. you settle into bed with him, you try to clear your cloudy mind. the sound of his small snores allows you to crawl out of his bed. you slip out of his room, headed to the front door. you make it outside, getting in your car and heading back home.

the first thing you see when you open social media is an anniversary post from steves girlfriend. your heart drops to your stomach, you always blamed yourself after going to steve. regardless of the fact he was the one to initiate, you still felt bad afterwards. you click your phone off, already having enough with what you saw. you lay back on your bed, your phone suddenly rings, and its steves contact. you take an unsteady breath, reluctantly answering the call.

"hey." he breathlessly states. "hello," you softly mutter back. "i took your advice. i broke up with her." your heart speeds up at his words. "really? how did it go?" he sighs, "it went okay. she wasn't happy, but she was glad i ended it before things got super serious." you nod, although he couldn't see that on his end. "i'm proud of you, steve." your words have his heart beating out of his chest. "i think i was pretty distracted during the relationship with her," you're puzzled by his words, "what do you mean?" he laughs nervously, "well, i'd really like to try things between us. so many times, i called you, because in the back of my head, i wanted us to be together." his words were the words you've been waiting for, but now hearing them you couldn't help but feel like a rebound.

"steve, i'm not going to be a rebound." you remark, and your tone hurts his feelings. "it won't be like that, i promise. you've showed me so much. you've allowed me to be vulnerable and my authentic self. you make me feel like a good person, without having to change myself in the process." you smile at his confession. "that means a lot steve, and i really like you. are you sure the wound isn't too fresh?" you question, scared for his potential response. "well, i know what i want. and she said she had found someone else too." you're stunned at this, "she moved on already too?" he smirks, "yeah, i guess she wasn't feeling the love either. do you want to come over?" he questions. "yeah, i'll be over soon, okay?" you stand up, grabbing your shoes. "okay, great. i'll see you soon." you say goodbye before ending the call.

you approach steves house, he's waiting outside for you. you walk up to his porch, and he immediately pulls you into a hug, you wrap your arms around his neck. he wraps his arm around your waist, squeezing you. you both pull away. he looks up at the stars, and you follow his gaze. he holds your hand, "can i take you on a date?" you smile brightly, "i would love that steve." he grins, "sleepover?" you bite your lip, "why not." you follow him to his room again, getting deja vu from being here a few hours earlier.

"thank you for sticking by me." he rubs your back, "of course, i do have something to admit though." he frowns at this but urges you to continue. "it was really hard seeing you two in the hallways." he stares into your eyes, "i'm sorry, i didn't even think about that." you shake your head, ensuring he knew it wasn't his fault. "i'm just happy to be with you here now," he laughs, "i wanted to say something sooner, but i was also so scared of the breakup to blow up in my face." you nod, understandingly, "i know, but aren't you relieved now?" you're curious to see how he is feeling.

"very relieved now," you two lay back in his bed, cuddling. "i couldn't have gotten the courage without you." he leans in for a kiss, this one being full of love and need. "what do you want to do?" you stare into his eyes, entranced by his beauty. "i just wanna lay here with you." you giggle, "that can be arranged." he pulls you closer to him, and the two of you lie there embraced with each other.

[mello0cat]

Dazai Osamu x Reader

⊹ GN reader Reader is a coworker at the ADA and a friend of Dazai Drunk Dazai Angst with a little fluff at the end Friends to lovers <3

The night was cold, it was quite late yet the lights of the city streets shined brightly...

Although it was all probably hazy for the brunette as you were helping him out of a bar... 'Lupin bar' something he mentioned once or twice before in the passing quite vaguely, a place he drinks his sorrows away, something must've been on his mind if he's stumbling so bad like this, calling you in a drunken haze earlier and now clinging onto you so desperately... God he reeks of alcohol and smoke...

You sighed making a mental note to ask him later about what was bothering him so much he almost drunk himself to an early grave... although he wouldn't probably mind if he did...

You support him as he drunkenly strings together a few incoherent words which you do not pay much attention to, brushing it away as you help him into a cab, you called just in case...

You sit there sitting next to him in the back seat, he was leaning on you, the tall brunette's face on your shoulder. You can feel his breath on your skin, you worried about him, it was concerning how often he gets drunk and it's you or Chuuya he calls first to drag him off from his own mess, God this mess of a man! Not only does he bother you at work now getting into messes after work leaving you to clean up after him... You can't help but care and adore this man falling for his stupid charms that somehow makes you blush and your heartbeat to raise, even if that man was a suicidal bastard...

He was smart, you had to admit it... he must've already knew how he made you feel, the countless butterflies fluttering in your stomach each time his smiled at you or his honeyed voice calls out your name in that mischievous tone-

Alright alright, that's enough for now...

You payed for the cab, that you swear you'll get back from Dazai later only for him to escape from that question like always... He probably planned this, that prick...

You grumble as you help him once again out of that cab, a little flustered at how clingy and close he gets when he's drunk... His hands either on your shoulders or waist, face in your shoulder, those messy yet soft looking locks of hair brushing against your ear, his rumbling voice that sends tingles down your spine each time he speaks or rather mumbles directly into your ear...

"come on, dumbass... Don't fall asleep on me now, I can't carry you all the way to your appartment..."

You grumbled in an annoyed tone as you two shuffled your way up the stairs, making sure he doesn't trip while on the way to his little appartment... You've been here countless times, just from dropping him off everytime he's gotten drunk so far and once to check up on him when he was sick and took a sick leave from work which was quite unlikely of him, so obviously you came to just check up on him of course but ended up staying to make him some soup and making him take medicine... After which you got sick as well...

You opened the door to his house with a spare key you had for in case of "emergencies" his countless failed suicide attempts that he called you to save him from whatever contraption he set up, thank God now Atsushi was there to deal with him, that saves you the bus fee...

You enter only to the stench of trash yet to take out, unwashed dishes in the sink and a pretty messy table...

You groan at the sight, no wonder he felt so down... the place he spends the most of his time other than the agency is in such a disorder and such a gloomy suffocating atmosphere...

"you can't bother to take care of yourself, can't you?"

You looked at him with a displeased expression yet... it was drenched in worry and concern as you plopped him down in the couch, the only relatively clean area in that appartment, getting him a glass of water to drink...

He looked at you with a hazy smile, you can see the unhappiness threatening to break out from the facade he put up always... The alcohol weakening his senses

"you always put up with me, no matter what I do..."

that was a different view from the drunken man from before... This man before you now is a man who saw no worth of himself... A lonely man that is...

"I put up with you because I want to... it's what friends are for, idiot... to support eachother when it is needed"

A quick hint of something flashed in his eyes at 'friends'... friends... is that something you two will always be?... A simple Friendship, you're both happy with this relationship... Yet... He can't help but want more... Human nature at its best...

He was familiar to such a feeling... wanting more yet it's always unreachable, ruining everything built so far...

You noticed it and decided to add

"you shouldn't act to careless all the time... some of us want you alive than dead..."

You mumbled the last part, you just couldn't help it... that's just how you felt, you didn't want him to hurt himself ever so often, you cared for him deeply, it's impossible not to love this man...

".... Thank you..."

He said quietly, sort of mumbled. Clearly not used to saying that... You froze to hear from him, but you can tell he ment it. Your face softened at it...

"oh... well... Now I should get back, it's getting very late...."

You were about to leave when he reached out and held your hand

"please...stay...."

You sighed again, the look on his face... His eyes looked vulnerable... He probably didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts... Especially at this time...

"fine... but I'll only stay till you fall asleep..."

Taking care of eachother is what friends do... right!... right?

He pulled her into the couch with him, your heart beating like crazy, a red hue dusting your cheeks again as he layed there on you basically, holding onto you desperately, as if you'd disappear into thin air or it was some kind of dream, his face burried in the junction of your chest and neck...

It doesn't hurt to indulge in a little right?... He's just drunk... and it doesn't hurt to stay here for a little while longer... He seems to be so peaceful in your arms, it'll take an eternity to move away now... You played with his hair, soaked in eachother's company till you both fell asleep in a quiet kind of comfort burried in both of your's presence, a kind of peace only found in eachother....

"What if we ruin it all, and we love like fools?"

⊹ . °. •

hehe~ finally over! How you enjoyed<3

It's certainly longer than my other two fics 😅

Sorry if there were spelling errors! My keyboard broke inbetween writing this and at times deleting entire paragraphs

Inspired by this song

Fools by Lauren Aquilina

Currently my favourite song, it's a must listen!! And also King by Lauren Aquilina!

Have a great day dear readers <3

[invisibleraven]

Was it all fake?

Sweet tarts

Carrie wished she could make this situation go away by pouting and crossing her arms-her usual avoidance tactic. But no ignoring it would make the pile of threatening letters disappear. Nor the stern looks on her managers faces.

"We're hiring you a bodyguard," Felipe stated, no nonsense, no room to argue. "Plus we have a PI investigating these."

"I don't want some hulking brute following my every move-I don't want my fans to know," Carrie replied, ever petulant.

The man sighed, massaging the space between his brows. "I have a candidate in mind. He usually works undercover as a nanny for kids, but we can pose him as your new boyfriend-someone it wouldn't be suspicious to bring with you everywhere, and no one would be the wiser."

"Can I go on record by saying I hate this?" Carrie stated.

"Noted," Felipe replied. "But I would rather you be unhappy and safe than not." He slid the picture over to her. "This is Reggie. He'll be coordinating with your home security to ensure the house is safe, then he's on your arm until we catch the culprit."

Carrie surveyed the photo, humming. "Well at least he's cute."

Felipe snorted at that. "Always an upside."

Reggie it turned out, was pretty easy going, despite being as trapped in this situation as she was. He told her he would follow her lead when it came to the whole fake relationship thing-hand holding and arms around each other but no other PDA-as long as she was honest about any threats or plans to leave his sight.

And Carrie, despite herself, found they got along pretty good. They didn't have a lot in common, but Reggie was a good listener, enthusiastic about music, and even taught her a few self defense moves so once he was gone she could whoop a bit of ass.

"How did you end up doing this?" she asked one night as they shared a meal. "Like how does one get into being a bodyguard?"

"I've always been a bit of a scrapper, but also really good with kids," Reggie explained. "Got hired to be a nanny for some CEO or another, disgruntled employee tried to hurt the kid, I took him down. Went from there. There's no like, school for it, but I've trained in weapons and fighting, plus I have all my childcare courses."

"So you're like Super Nanny?" Carrie joked.

He laughed at that. "Minus the cape, sure. I don't look like the typical bodyguard, so it's an easy cover. But this is also fun, since the kids only really know about the bodyguard part if they're old enough to get it. Nice to not be a secret for once, be real."

"I get that," Carrie said with a sigh. "I gotta keep up the whole persona of Carrie Wilson International Sensation so much I sometimes forget who Carrie really is."

"Well, for what it's worth, I like the real Carrie plenty," Reggie replied, squeezing her hand. Letting his touch linger until his face burned and snatching it away.

And Carrie was wondering why she felt the loss so profoundly-none of this was real right?

It came to a head one night, they were half watching a movie, Carrie's head resting on Reggie's shoulder, pretty much drifting off, when the sound of breaking glass jolted her up.

"Stay here," Reggie stated, more serious than she had ever heard him. Pulling a knife from around his ankle, and holding a finger to his lips.

Carrie huddled into herself, covering a gasp when she heard a gunshot. She knew that Reggie had a gun, but she was certain it was locked up in his room-not on his person. She stood, unsure if she was running towards Reggie, or out the door.

The choice was taken from her when a figure appeared in the doorway. Crazed eyes and a sinister smile on his face. "Finally, together at last," he sneered. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment."

"I got your letters, I think I have some," she replied, holding herself tall. No sudden movements her mind supplied. Put them at ease.

"I had to get your attention somehow," the man stated. "So you would notice me." He came closer, reeking of booze and desperation.

Carrie stood her ground, waiting until he was close enough, then struck him in the throat with the heel of her hand-a move Reggie had taught her. He staggered, glaring at her.

"Now why did you do that?" he gasped.

She held her fists up, glaring at him. "You stalked me, threatened me, broke into my house and shot my boyfriend," she replied. "Why do you think?"

The man growled, rushing at her, but then stopped, falling over, Reggie's knife square between his shoulder blades.

Reggie himself stood in the doorway, clutching his bleeding shoulder, giving her a weak smile despite his fat lip and black eye. "Sorry doll, he packs quite a wallop."

Carrie rushed to him, tenderly taking his face into her hands. "You saved me."

"All in a day's-" whatever else Reggie was going to say was cut off when Carrie kissed him-half gratitude and relief, half something unnameable in this moment. And he kissed her back, only pulling away when the sirens in the air got close.

"That'll be the calvary," he quipped. "How about we pick this up later?"

She nodded, keeping close as police and paramedics flooded in.

Only later was filled with too much paperwork, bandages, and phone calls. Later was Felipe telling her that Reggie's job was over and he would be moving on to his next assignment.

Later was watching him pack, and standing there as the words lying in her heart staged caged. Only when he touched the doorknob did she ask "Was it all fake?"

Reggie deflated. "I was always real with you. If you don't know that..."

"I was too," Carrie whispered. "I don't want to let that-you go."

"Then ask me to stay," Reggie pleaded. "I can find a job working with kids, hang up the cape."

"You don't have a cape," Carrie said, but rushed into his arms, grinning to reflect his eager smile. "But you're still my hero."

[talesfrommedinastation]

REDNECK DOUG IS A DAMN HERO IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD

Nothing much, but we had a disgusting, horrid, stupid ass skunk on our block. This fucker.

It tore up multiple gardens. It chewed through all sorts of shit. The holes it dug on different yards killed a good chunk of our plants. Mine included.

RIP my poor dahlias, kale, and vague sad attempt at homegrown peppers from my kid's science project.

It was a lot of work that ended in this stupid stinky fuck digging it all up looking for his damn worms. It has evaded us for months, like a musky El Chapo, waddling his nasty stank ass all over the damn alley.

The skunk also killed a couple of my friend's poor chickens, too. She got it on camera. The rest of the flock is elsewhere, now.

Finally, the skunk sprayed my poor dog, who came into the house wailing and made the entire place reek. Cue a very unhappy doggo getting a bath in the cold yard and my poor kids and I trying to clean up the house so it doesn't smell like a burning tire fucked a bag of weed.

Anyway, long story short, Redneck Doug had a busy day at work, took Jimmers to the dog park, and made it back after the sun set, normally when Senor Hedor del Diablo does his Spray n Pray on the neighborhood dogs, commit chicken homicide, and dig up our yards like a crackhead trying to find a stash in a trap house. Skunko was running across the alley from garage to garage...right where Doug was headed in his pickup, Jimmers riding shotgun.

When in battle between a skunk and a 1999 Mazda B-Series...the truck will win, swiftly and without mercy. At least Skunk had a quick ending.

And Doug ain't paying for drinks for quite some time in this neighborhood! We are free!

PS- I hold our inept avian community accountable for this bullshit. Our urban neighborhood is famous for Great Horned Owls, one of the top predators of skunks. Come the FUCK ON, owls. We also have multiple red-tailed hawks, coyotes, and foxes nearby. Watch, they're all dumpster diving instead of being actual predators. Ugh.

[ilovemalfoys]

sneaking out

As Allora walked back up the driveway towards the manor, she saw a figure on the porch and groaned internally. She couldn't get back up to her window without being seen.

As she walked closer, she could see that the figure on the porch was none other than her mother, Narcissa Malfoy. She was sitting on the porch with a book in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other. She had a woolly shawl around her shoulders and a blanket that was always kept outside draped over her knees to keep her warm from the cold. 

When Allora locked eyes with her mother, she sighed. There was no getting out of this now. Once she saw she was close to the manor, Narcissa marked the page in her book and drained the rest of her wine in one gulp, leaving the glass on the outdoor table and the blanket on the seat for the elves to clear up later. 

“In” she said sternly when Allora found herself standing on the porch. 

As she walked towards the staircase once she was inside the manor, her mother quickly turned her away to walk towards the living room. 

“Don’t even think about it” she said and took her hand  as she led her towards the living room. Once they had both sat down in the living room, Narcissa had another glass of wine in her hand, the shawl draped over the back of her armchair.

“Where were you?” she asked. “And do not lie to me, because you will be in even more trouble”

“I was at a friend’s house” she said vaguely and Narcissa sighed irritated, a sign that Allora shouldn’t mess with her mother. But she was drunk and in the mood to piss off her mother.

“Tell me whose house it was, or Merlin help me, I will wake your father and not only will he be unhappy about being woken up at-” she stopped to look at the clock behind her. “-4:27 in the morning, he will be even angrier to find out you had snuck out. Who’s. House'' she said.

“I was with Lorenzo.” Narcissa looked like she was going to leave it there, but then her eyes narrowed dangerously at Allora.

“Artemis and Adrian are in Switzerland. You’re dressed in party clothes. You reek of alcohol and cigarettes” Narcissa stated. “There was a party, wasn't there?” The silent reply Narcissa received told her that her assumption was correct. “For Merlin’s sake Allora! How did you think I felt when I went into your room to find your bed empty and your window wide open?!”

“It was just a party mum,” she said bluntly.

“That’s not the point Allora Malfoy!”

“Whatz ‘appening?” a voice asked sleepily from the living room entrance. They both snapped their heads at the doorway and saw Aurelius standing there in his pyjamas. He was holding his stuffed rabbit called Babbity by the ear in one hand and fisting his eyes with the other. 

Narcissa took a deep breath before she spoke.

“What are you doing awake sweetie?” she asked softly.

“Gotta love the mood swings” Allora muttered but quickly cowered under her mother’s harsh glare. 

“I woke up. I ‘on know why," he mumbled, walking towards his mother and sat himself in his mother’s lap, seeking her warm comfort. Narcissa rubbed his back gently and held him tightly as she stood up so she wouldn’t drop him.

“Let’s get you back to bed, little one” she said gently in his ear and turned to her drunk daughter who was sitting on the couch looking at them through half-closed eyes and a silly smile on her face. Narcissa took a deep breath so she wouldn’t lash out at her deviant daughter in front of the toddler in her arms, who was already half-asleep in his mother’s warm embrace. 

“I’m going to put your brother back to sleep. Don’t go anywhere” Narcissa instructed sternly, giving Allora a look so she would not disobey her mother’s orders.

“Yeah, yeah. Why would I want to get in more trouble?” Allora asked sarcastically as she put her feet up on the coffee table and grabbed a book that was discarded on the table. 

Narcissa sighed irritated and left the room to put Aurelius back in bed. When she came back, Allora was still laying on the couch, the book in her hands. 

“Allora,” she called. 

“Hm?” Allora replied and Narcissa sighed, walking towards her.

“I don’t appreciate that you snuck out, but I want you to understand how I must’ve felt when I saw your bed empty and had no idea where you were or if you were okay. I sat on the porch for three hours, praying you would come home safe and sound” Narcissa said, kneeling down in front of Allora, taking her hands in her own. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would worry that much” Allora muttered.

“Of course I would worry. I’m your mother, all I do is worry” Allora leaned down and hugged her mother carefully. 

“I really am sorry” Allora mumbled into Narcissa’s shoulder. 

“As long as you don’t do it again. Next time tell me. Do you understand?” Narcissa said sternly.  

“Yeah. I’ll tell you next time. I promise mum” 

Narcissa sighed. “Off to bed now. I won’t mention this to your father, but if you have a hangover tomorrow, you can take a hangover cure. I’m trusting you to not make us have this conversation again” 

“We won't,” Allora said. She placed a kiss on her mother’s cheek before walking upstairs towards her bedroom. 

Narcissa sighed and stood up. When she arrived into her bedroom, Lucius was fast asleep. When she finished getting ready for bed, she tucked herself under Lucius’ arms and closed her eyes. 

“You know. I heard your whole conversation with Allora” Lucius whispered in her ear and Narcissa jumped slightly in surprise before shaking her head and chuckling. 

“You were awake?” she asked and turned around to face him, still tucked tightly in his arms. 

“Yeah. I noticed you weren’t in bed anymore and went downstairs and heard you talking to Allora. I’ll let this slide like you did and pretend to be oblivious if that’s what you want” Lucius said.

“I think we should give her a chance. This is the first time she’s done this. We’ve done it more times than either of us could count. It would only be unfair. If she does it again, then she’ll get in trouble. She already knows she will” Narcissa said. 

“Okay. Whatever you think is best, my love. Now sleep. I’m tired and I have to go into the office tomorrow” Lucius said. When he didn’t hear a reply, he looked down and saw Narcissa already fast asleep. He chuckled quietly and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, my love” he whispered and closed his eyes.

[selkiewife]

tell me please, about Ros and Reek, glass garden/houses ( It’s sounds amazig) and gloves angst porn ( i wouldn't be me if I didn't ask about it haha) ❤️

Ahhh! Thank you so much for the ask, @alwayssmiled!

Ros and Reek

So I was rewatching Season 1 of Game of Thrones and during the scene where Ros leaves for Kingslanding, Theon tells Ros: "Yes she'll be very popular until some fat lord comes to visit with a big belly and a little prick and he can't get it up so he knocks all your teeth out." And I just lost my shit with the potential foreshadowing of that line! And then I remembered reading that before season 5 aired, there were theories that the show would use Ros in the Jeyne Poole storyline- since they had already used her to stand in for other characters such as Alayaya. The theory was that Little Finger would use Ros as a proxy for Sansa. And so this AU began forming in my head which is based on the show, but more book stuff is incorporated as well. I just kept having this image in my head when they meet again and Theon is the one with his teeth knocked out and it goes from there... I think it would be very very interesting to explore how incorporating Ros changes the dynamic- just as having Sansa there changed things vs Jeyne in the books. I like that there is still the element of "person who no one cares about" with Ros- but to possibly an even greater extent than Jeyne- because she is lowborn and older. And I also really love the past relationship between Theon and Ros and think that would be really interesting to explore.

Glass Gardens/Glass Houses

This is a book based fic that takes place in my imagined "dream of spring" era. They won against the WW but their lands and society have been completely devastated. Theon is helping to rebuild Winterfell and he is assigned to help rebuild the glass gardens- to grow food (to sow essentially.) During the fic, there will be flashbacks that explain how Bran skinchanged him at certain points for reasons I am still working out. But it was apparently in service of the greater good/to help win the war against the army of the dead. However, this experience has left Theon's mind broken in a way that Ramsay was never able to do. So this is not the laughing in Stannis' face defiant Theon. And that in itself is devastating. There are a lot of unhappy reunions as well! He sees Palla and Beth and Jeyne again and there is so much angst. He watches Jeyne reunite with them- I suppose there is some bittersweet hopefulness for the three girls. But it's the idea of trying to deal with the impossible task of "making amends" when he really can't with a body and mind that has been punished to its limits already. But maybe he can still get something to grow...

Gloves Angst Porn

This was another one inspired by the Greysnow Week prompts that I was unable to finish. It is a show based fic that branches out a bit into book territory because of changed circumstances- Theon is recaptured by Ramsay and tortured after helping Sansa escape. Jon and Sansa find him again after retaking Winterfell. This is actually my first attempt to write porn for Jon and Theon but, in true me fashion it is going to get QUITE the angst filled lead up. Multiple chapters of angst filled lead up lol. There is a little of it below the cut but it's rough:

“Take off your gloves.” 

When Jon gives a command it must be obeyed, and yet Reek falters. He can’t say why. Shame? Embarrassment? But Jon has seen him shamed, seen his humiliation more times than Reek can count. It was Jon himself who pulled him off of the saltire after he and Sansa had defeated Ramsay.  Somehow though, it never gets any easier. 

He turns from where he was feeding the fire and faces Jon. 

“My lord?” He asks softly, hoping that he might have misheard him. 

Jon stands with his brow creased, studying papers strewn about the desk. He isn’t even looking at him, but at Reek’s question, he raises his eyes. 

It is all Reek can do not to shrink back. Jon wants him to be Theon now. Just as Ramsay before him wanted Theon to be Reek. But it is hard to remember. Not his name but.. well, what Theon did what Theon meant. He use to rhyme in his head to remember Reek. Reek, Reek it rhymes with sneak and leak and freak. Theon does not rhyme with anything. 

When he tries to grasp the sense of Theon he is met with a void. And the memories of past deeds. People hurt, ghosts clinging to his cloak. Traitor, Murderer. They don’t rhyme but they are true. Still, he is not supposed to be those things anymore. So what is he to do? Reek at least rhymes with seek.

He tries to keep eye contact like Jon wants him too but he fails and drops his eyes like the dog he is. (You shouldn’t make direct eye contact, unless you want to appear to be a threat. And you should never appear to be a threat toward your master. You must wait until your master gives you leave to look.)

“Take off your gloves. I need to see your hands.” 

When Reek hesitates again, Jon adds, “Please.” 

Because there is nothing else he can do, he turns back toward the fire and begins to peel off the black leather. He can’t tell why he feels the need to turn away from Jon as if he were removing his shirt or trousers. And as soon as he realizes how this modesty must seem to Jon he flushes. 

Reek seeks a memory. He tries to grasp the boy he use to be, with his easy confidence and sassy mouth, who could always make Jon flustered with a lewd word or jape. But of course, that boy is no longer there, just this wreck of an old man who trembles if you look at him the wrong way. And if he did truly act like Theon, would Jon let him stay? Jon thought Theon was an ass. And Theon betrayed Robb and burned Winterfell. No that was Ramsay… it’s difficult to keep the different truths in order. 

When Theon is finished removing his gloves, he holds his hands up for Jon as if he is confessing a crime. In a way he is. These are ugly hands that bear all the markings of his punishments, the games he would play with Ramsay. Reek made these hands a ruin as much as Ramsay did, for in the end, he was always the one pleading for a finger to be severed. He always made me beg.

Jon studies his hands and Reek studies Jon’s face, trying to discern whether his expression holds disappointment. Jon takes one of his hands in his and Reek shivers. 

“Have you been taking care of them? Not biting them I hope?”

Reek swallows. “… A little…I’m sorry… I…”

“Fine,” Jon says gruffly, shutting him up. Jon is trying to make him better, like Ramsay before him tried. And that is good. But Reek knows he will never punish him for things like this, and that is good too. 

Jon turns Reek’s hand over and then takes the other one in his other hand. He traces his gloved fingers over the stumps. It’s not as if he is seeing me naked Reek reminds himself. Finally Jon stops and Reek remembers to breathe. 

Jon turns and goes back to his desk. He takes a feather and begins writing before he pronounces his sentence. “Tomorrow you will begin training again, with the bow.”

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Sorry about the rambling. I dunno why I wrote so much, but I don’t want to consign it to the draft folder purgatory I only so recently purged.

Today, in the grocery store parking lot**, a truck transporting hogs had broken down.

I dunno if everyone knows what these trucks look like. They are double decker things, these slivery crates with the animals packed in tight. When I was little, before the road was four laned, the trucks would come right through the middle of the town, reeking of pig shit.

Actually, those trucks and those too tiny pig lots local farmers used to have had me assuming pigs naturally stunk. When my little Ryoga showed up I assumed I was going to just have to endure a terrible stench out by the pool. It turned out that if you actually give pigs enough space they don’t stink at all! Who knew!

Anyway, as the trucker worked on his engine the giant cage rattled as hogs moved about. You could see them, the side of a pig, an ear, just glimpses through the gaps. Every now and then a snout would stick out, sniffing at the air. Despite the fact there was the occasional unhappy squeal, the pigs probably didn’t know they are on their way to die, only they were packed in tight in a metal box, and now that they weren’t being jostled around they were baking in the sun and smelling the same horrible diesel exhaust that was choking me.

My god, Ryoga doesn’t know how lucky he was when he ran away and found me! That would have been his fate. He would have been butchered years ago.

Instead he has his cozy house surrounded by trees. He has a human that feeds him twice a day, gives him apples, shares her oranges with him, gives him newspapers to thrash to death, rubs his belly, and frets if he pulls a muscle or catches a cold.

I was buying him fresh wood chips, hog feed, and apples on this trip, while I watched his cousins becoming agitated in a truck that started rocking. I’d be petting and scratching at Ryoga, snuffling back at him face to face just a few hours later. And they would soon be dying.

Look, I get humans are omnivores. I am too. But I can’t stand the thought of eating bacon, ham, etc ever since Ryoga entered my life. It’s no different than how most people would never seriously entertain the idea of eating dogs or cats. I see those pigs, and I see my “little one”.

Ok, Ryoga isn’t exactly little anymore(my tusky buddy weighs much more than me), but he’ll always be “my little one”, the scrawny, battered, little piglet the size of a cat that took Mom and I by surprise late one October day. He’s special to me, but maybe some of those pigs on that truck are smart or silly or cute or playful too. It was just insane luck that he escaped and found me.

At Walmart two people held up signs begging for money, one someone that looked decidedly sickly who said they were disabled, the other a frail old woman, hunched over. Both looked sad, ashamed, and exhausted as they struggled at different ends of the parking lot to keep standing.

So very little separates me from them, as my body breaks and my bank account dwindles. My home is dilapidated, but it is a home. Many of the things my family left me a broken, but some work. I have a very meager allowance to survive on, but it has so far been enough to not quite starve. But how long before I have no livable house and not enough money to meet basic needs?

And it occurred to me that I was like Ryoga. We both got lucky. And loved.

He doesn’t appreciate it, of course, and has no concept of the precariousness of existence. If I die before him, he is probably doomed.

I was like that once too. Taking my family and the life they offered for granted, intellectually getting I was lucky, but emotionally incapable of truly predicting the future that lay ahead.

Like most animals I have a terrible problem of existing too much in the now, and almost paradoxically that has gotten worse now that the reality of my life has proven the folly of such a life. The trouble is, once I started falling there is no time or energy for planning or preparing when everything has become about surviving. How an I exist outside the now, when every moment yanks me back with a new crisis?

Today I watched pigs in a truck, on their way to slaughter, and people that life has crushed desperately hoping for a moment of anonymous kindness from people that would rather not make eye contact. And I feel all the luck I have, and all the fear of how it cam so easily slip away.

**Super stressful shopping trip. I was trying desperately to get the essentials on my list yet still save enough I could pay a certain bill due this month. The good news is I succeeded. The bad news is I may or may not be able to buy groceries for myself again this month! LOL (Don’t worry. The animals come first. )

[norcalbruja]

Undas / Soul's day weirdness

So with my excessive time off due to unemployment and Spooky Season coming to a close, I've been getting into "The Crow" about ten years too late. I am full of sorrow for both the character Eric Draven, and for Brandon Lee's untimely death.

Yesterday was my first night of work at the bowling alley, and I only had to stay about three hours since I'm not actually in the system yet. I still did not want to go to a DAY-JOB again, and the beach at night is Dark And Creepy, so I was regretting watching Eric Draven's traumatic resurrection scene on Youtube before getting dressed.

It does not help that one of the place's storage rooms is called "the scary room" by one of the managers. While it's lit up pretty well now, it's eerily quiet, it used to have a single desk-lamp valiantly trying to light a room that's close to the size of my whole apartment, and the CLOSETS are still pitch-black. It's also full of the old machinery that they replaced, but can't find a proper spot for.

Manager said that before it was properly lit, everyone hated going in there and sometimes he felt like someone/something was watching him from the dark.

Like, ENDLESS NOPE for that part of the building. I might need to bring a necklace that I made for Persephone a while back, but I can never find a chance to WEAR. I just carry it around in my bag because I feel bad about never wearing jewelry whenever the gods prod at me to make it, and I might need to wear it under my work-shirt or stick it in a pocket.

Anyway, while I was driving home last night, I was listening to Hozier and trying to get myself back into "I need this job for money" mode, so I was like "ughhhhh, Happy Soul's Day to the spirits, I guess? Look I really don't want to be at this job, but I also need money, and if I can manage to get a break with my art soon, I would like to leave it on GOOD terms."

This is behind the cut for length, mentions of "dead-spirits versus living-spirits," and an explanation about how I used to be suicidal.

--

So I was getting ready for bed and already Very Unhappy at the thought of having a day-job again, annnnnnnd someone calling himself Eric Draven came into my meditation.

The only thing most of my family knows about my spirituality is that I can see ghosts/dead-spirits, and I occasionally have dreams of dead relatives. Apart from that, I barely SEE any dead people in my spiritual messiness. Like... I'm not a gravedigger or anything, after all.

Plus, living spirits usually tell them to keep away from me, even if they don't mean harm. It's because I'm depressed, and I was borderline/passively suicidal in high school (I constantly did not eat because I didn't feel hungry and I felt like a waste of space). I'm no longer suicidal, but as noted by my constantly stressed updates about my life, I never managed to feel BETTER for very long.

Hades and the Morrigan have said that I am "too close to death" and I spiritually have "one foot in the grave." Like, I already spend too much time in the Otherworld to (badly) cope with my shitty life because mundane-world things like "therapy," "getting diagnosed for Autism/ADHD" or "getting a break in the arts world" just seem so unattainable for me, so if I spend too much time with DEAD spirits, there is a low but not zero risk of me wanting to join them.

Meanwhile, here comes Eric Draven on the night of Soul's Day / Undas in full goth clothes and makeup, and I was freaked out and I asked him, "Hiiiiiiii??? Are you Eric Draven or... Brandon Lee?"

He was like "No no no, I'm not either of them--I just took his face because you'd freak out MORE if some random guy came along. Please just call me Eric."

And I went, "Okay, Eric, why are you here? I don't have even a LIVING boyfriend around, much less a recently-murdered one."

Eric said very, very reluctantly, "I came because you're full of vengeance. You reek of anger and loneliness. Nobody living can seem to help you with your art, or getting a house, or the stuff you actually NEED HELP WITH, so I figured a dead guy roping himself in can't hurt too much."

So I was like "You are the third or fourth spirit who told me that they can smell my unhappiness. Is that a thing in the Otherworld?"

And he said, "YEAH. Yeah, it is. And that's a problem if it gets this bad. You might start attracting the good tricksters--like your husband--but you might start attracting some bad tricksters, like Loki."

So I said, "Eric, Loki isn't a BAD spirit. Tricksters have necessary functions in life, people just don't LIKE those functions all the time."

Eric apologized and said, "I'm sorry about the 'good or bad spirit' thing, but Loki's not a NICE spirit. I'm here because you need help, and some of that is how you don't want more NOT-NICE spirits homing in on you."

And I was like, "Well, you are painfully nice, Eric, but are you good or bad? I really hope I don't need to fight anyone soon."

He admitted, "I don't know which one I am. I'm not TECHNICALLY supposed to be here, but YOU were supposed to get help with at least one fucking thing you keep begging for. What are people gonna do? Kill me again?"

Anyway, Eric is definitely dead. He's cold when I touch him and he can only warm back up when he's in really high emotion, but then he starts almost burning like he's got a fever instead, so the issue seems to be how he can't "regulate his temperature" anymore.

--

This morning Macha (an Irish horse-goddess, she basically did the "extrovert" thing and adopted my hermit self) found Eric hanging out with me while I was trying to wake up enough to brush my teeth, and she prodded him and went, "Ew, he's dead! What are you DOING here?! It's not Soul's Day anymore, mate--GET OUT."

And I told her, "Macha, he's not literally Eric Draven! He said he wants to help, and he's nice! Don't make him leave!"

And Macha was like, "Honey, you don't have good boundaries! You also have issues with how people said your people's gods abandoned you to the wilderness! You aren't going to make ANYONE leave!"

Dionysus is also pretty wigged out that Eric's here, but Eric repeated that he is here because I'm miserable as shit, and "if the living cannot help, maybe the dead can."

Hades is just extremely sad to see him, so he shook his head and went, "Well, looks like the grave came to you. THAT was unexpected."

Lola Buwaya and Haik Number Four are also upset.

Like... a giant squid and a dead guy came to help because they feel bad for me, and at least one Megaloceros heard Spirit-Me's screaming for help, but most of the anito are just MIA? This is WEIRD and nobody knows where they are.

[elisethetraveller]

The autumn air, warm and crisp just on the edge of frosty, danced across the copplestones and mud. The rain had reigned all morning, but a healthy sun had long since dried the roads, roofs and leaves; only the most stubborn spots still reeked of damp. Feeling the wind dance across her skin, the pale woman breathed deeply. Despite everything, her senses were those of an ordinary human. A naive, hopefully, part of her hoped that, however vague it might be, she would be able to pick up on the familiar iron of blood. Should there be any. But there wasn't—just the crispness of leaves and the faint smell of houses with warm hearths.

Her second thought upon seeing him, second to the remarkable un-human-ness about him, is that he has the posture of a noble. Common folk carried themselves with rounded shoulders, heavy from the days' burdens, bent backs, from toiling in fields or at too-small tables, and lately, they glanced behind them at all hours with the same urgency as a deer caught in the open between the safety of two forests. No, he carried himself more like the wolf prowling the field. Not salivating, but also not unhappy with the situation.

Perhaps he was making the same evaluations of her. It seemed likely. And it didn't seem unlikely that he was reaching similar conclusions. This was not a time where the colours white and red were associated with peaceful healers. And Elise was just as still and posed. Not tense and waiting to pounce, but she was mourning the cloak left at home. It made it easier to reach for her belt unnoticed. Not that she needed the dagger there, but despite how much she tried to ease herself into the mask of calm and friendliness, it didn't stick.

There was something wrong with her; the mage knew as much. An old friend (or was it enemy?) had called it a static that lingered around her. Static. That was a good word. There was also a static to him—something in stasis.

"Ah, you are the adventurous sort then?" Elise stopped just short of rolling her shoulders, but she couldn't suppress the shimmer that went through them as they were forced down and away from her chest with the accompanying sideways tilt of her head and widening smile. She doesn't follow his eyes to treeline, trusting her ears to alert her should danger emerge and perhaps not trusting him enough to divert her attention.

The pale woman could appreciate his dedication to the truce and kept her distance in kind. They must have made for quite the awkward sight, conversing across the square as they were. It hadn't occurred to Elise that perhaps her voice shouldn't be as audible to him as it appeared to be.

"Yes." The colloquialism doesn't fit with the times, but the nonsense answer felt safer than providing details. Perhaps it would have been more fitting to say both. Regardless, the mage did feel forced to elaborate, if for no other reason than to maintain the civility. "I settled here a few weeks ago." Or maybe it was a month? Several months? Time felt strange, and she had not been here long.

"You have chosen quite the night for myth hunting." Or rather monster hunting, but there was no reason to alarm him with that piece of information. Unhumanness or not, surely beasts of the variety she had encountered couldn't be a common sight. "What is your name, thrill-seeker?" The green gem, almost the same green as his eyes, reminded her of someone, but the memory was like smoke between her fingers.

` 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒄𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒎 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒖𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔.

[ … ] The dry sound of them dancing atop hardened stone,  the scrape of them to accompany the rustling atop the trees.  It’s a lovely night,  relaxed,  peaceful on the surface like a lake,  hiding away whatever darkened secrets lie beneath its unshattered surface.

The softly whispered lure of something more frustratingly lingered like an old,  burned in scent,  etching along his senses like the scratch of nails.  Enough to know it was present,  but he couldn’t yet locate the source.  In this moment,  he finds it’s wise to keep things light-hearted,  friendly enough to maintain careful hold of the chance to learn more about this sleepy seeming town   &&.   it’s curious inhabitants.

He’s studied for a few more stray beats,  the time taken nothing in the ancient being’s eyes,  little more than a long breath by comparison.  He stands tall.  Shoulders carefully squared,  relaying his undying confidence even after the impromptu greeting sheepishly given,  head still owlishly tilted in silken observance as twin green hues flicker along her pale visage.

Mask kept securely in place,  there’s little room for much of a slip   —   admirable,  though it does leave his guard to lift,  faintly so at the lack of fear caught.  There’s something undeniably knowing when he peers into suspicion thinned sights,  noting how they bear no waver,  no tremble in the torn urge to fight or flee despite seemingly catching on to his lack of human tethering.  Or perhaps he misread the look that gleaned along tensed features…

Steely determination greets him in its stead   —   intriguing,  but the amiable,  civil way she chooses to stand by are a welcome change in pace.  There’s a faint twitch of her lips,  a downturned yearning to curl,  but it’s restrained,  seamlessly pulled into a friendly smile of all things despite the pointed thinning of her eyes in a subtle glare.  He could work with that,  for the time being,  until he knew more about the strange magic calling in the air.

Though he keeps his own expression carefully held,  making sure not to move much too quickly least the Aztec break the uneasy,  threadbare truce they’ve fallen to unspoken   —   he doesn’t entirely believe the attempt to cover things up.  But it does it’s job at least.  Something of an olive branch to gloss over things for the time being until the need to truly assess things arose.  Fine by him.  He hadn’t come looking for a fight unless it was necessary tonight.

He hums,  acknowledging the straw-thin response given before he nods softly with an answering ‘I see’.

` ❝ I was originally passing through.  I’ve been advised that travelling so late though,  it’s dangerous. ❞

A flick of venomous pools to the treeline in the distance,  a brief pinch of darkened brows as he crosses his arms in a slowed,  mindful manner.  Treading carefully,  to show he wasn’t an immediate danger,  not yet anyways,  he can’t help the face he makes when he turns back to the girl.  The strong kiss of something inhuman remained present,  annoyingly so with the lack of an answer to reason behind it.  His easy laughter is kept quiet,  as amicable as he can manage in the strange woman’s presence.

` ❝ Well… maybe I was looking to test those rumours. &&. you? Are you a local or a traveller as well? ❞

[leagueoflegendsimagines]

sfw + nsfw headcanons for sett pls?

SFW:

- You first met Sett at the pond on your property, on a rainy day.

- It was a tough day for you - your betrothed left you after two years of engagement and now you felt... lonely. And filled by a quiet sense of despair.

- As your parents were famed merchants in Ionia, they had well-known guests quite often. Day in and day out, you would watch peculiar people come and leave.

- But none of them fascinated you the way Sett did.

- He was... something else. Intimidating in an entirely masculine way.

- To be more direct, he reeked of masculinity and life. He was different from all those young men your parents would allow around you.

- Even more, he was a... Vastaya.

- When he also took quite a strong interest in you - how could he not? You were such a delicate little thing, all sad and lonely and wishing for companionship -, your parents couldn't refuse his presence in your house. He was, after all, one of the strongest men in Ionia. They didn't wish to anger him. One word from Sett and they would be ruined.

- They were also very opportunistic people. Sett was a better match than your former betrothed, Vastaya or not. They were not as traditional as many well-off people in Ionia. They didn't care about his spoiled blood.

- Watching you grow more and more fond of him with every passing month helped them take a decision as well. They were your parents. Of course they cared for your well-being. They wouldn't allow you to marry someone only based on love, but...

- But if it was Sett, things would work out perfectly.

- Sett is, surprisingly, quite the gentleman when he is around you. With his strong physique, he would never wish to hurt you - even by accident. As your friendship grows tighter and feelings start to bloom, he starts opening up to you. With Sett, it's something normal to find yourself playing catch in the vast courtyard you have. He finds it amusing when you wrestle with him - and he gains a huge dose of pleasure and satisfaction when you both end up on the floor of your study, out of breath and filled with tension, want for more.

- 2 years after you first met, Sett asks for your hand in marriage. He asks you first, of course - he would hate to put you into a bad spot by going to your parents. What if you didn't share his feelings? He didn't wish for an unhappy, resentful wife. Even more so if it was you.

- It's a surprise to him when you almost instantly agree. From this moment on, Sett truly shows you just why he became Ionia's most wanted bachelor.

- He drowns you in seduction. Now that you're vowed for each other, he doesn't hold back in his affections.

- You will be drowned in gentle, subtle touches and soft but ardent kisses.

- He is not someone that's ashamed of showing his love for you. It doesn't matter where you are - at your own home or at his job - he will never hesitate to pull you into his arms and gently nuzzle your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your soft frame.

- Your parents blame it on his Vastaya blood.

- His mother absolutely adores you. As a well-educated and gentle young woman, you offer his son a sense of security and familial protection that she had always wished for him. Your family background is also quite the advantage - Sett would finally have a proper background. He wouldn't be a poor, spoiled bastard anymore. Now, all doors and opportunities would open to him and his offspring.

- Naturally, Sett doesn't wait until the official wedding night. You first marry the old Vastayan way. His mother is the only one present - for such an intimate moment, you don't wish for the presence of your parents. It's the Vastayan way. It's Sett's moment. Even though he insisted a lot on having your parents there as well, you refused. You knew them too well. They would try to turn it into something bigger, something with more grandeur and more shine to it. Naturally, with more guests as well.

- They would have their time to shine at the official wedding.

- But that moment, when you followed Sett's ways in marrying him - that would be the most precious moment you would ever keep in your heart.

NSFW

- Sett doesn't truly care about human tradition - but he cares enough for you to wait until he marries you. Naturally, you would've been worried to offer yourself to him before you were officially - and legally married -, but you were well aware that Vastayan mated for life. Even if you would leave him, Sett would never take another mate for himself.

- In some ways, it frightened you - the thought that you could so easily destroy his heart. But you loved him more than anything else. And you would stay with him for the rest of his life. You would respect your vows until your last breath.

- After waiting for such a long time, Sett is impatient - and it shows. Not in a negative manner, but you can almost taste his lust when he takes you in his arms, in the privacy of his bedroom.

- You had never felt such a powerful strike of lust, such an aching and fiery need in your body as when he sneaked his nimble fingers between your thighs for the first time.

- Even after getting used to your marital life, the constant lust wouldn't cease.

- How could it? Sett would always manage to light up your blood by just being himself. And how could you resist him when he returned home, late at night, sweaty and tense, ready to push you face first into the pillow and fuck you into the mattress?

- You soon find out that the rumors about the Vastayan are true - incredible stamina, great lovers. And Sett definitely takes the performance to a whole new level. Being such a competitive person, he is never satisfied teasing you until you're a trembling, whining mess - begging for his cock and cum.

- He loves you more than anything else. How could he deny your pleasure?

- That doesn't mean he won't make it hard for you, though.

- Sett, naturally, has quite the breeding kink. Nothing turns him on more than the thought of finishing inside you, leaving you heavy with his child. Nothing makes him happier than the thought of you, pregnant, waiting for him at home every night - it warms him up in a very unexpected way. He wouldn't have taken himself for a family man.

- But that was before he met you.

- Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take very long until you are pregnant with your first child.

[jschllatt]

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 | 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

Prompt: (Based off of the song I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys) Clay’s recent fame leads to a difficult decision to be made. Months later, he’s still regretful. You seem to be fine, so why can’t he move on, too? 

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, slight angst

Pairing: Dream x GN!Reader

Words: 2.5k

Masterlist

I spent a week on this and idk how I feel about it but I hope you enjoy <3

Clay had been consumed by an overwhelming emptiness, his entire body hollow as the lack of your presence took its toll. 

Two months. Two devastating months had passed since he’d made a grave mistake, and now he was facing the agonous repercussions. He was a mess—anyone could see it. Between his long, disheveled hair, the light scruff that covered his face, and his bloodshot eyes, it was clear that Clay’s mind had been somewhere else. And it had been. Every passing second was a constant reminder of his solitude, causing the emptiness in his heart to evolve into a deep, incessant void, no longer inhabited by the happiness you had ingrained in him just months before. Why? Clay was overcome with a sense of deep regret as a result of your absence, feeling more alone than he ever had before. What could have possibly happened to make him feel this way? To make you leave? The answer was rather simple—he was just too damn busy. 

Clay had dedicated a considerable amount of time to his career, filming or streaming during the little free time he had. As he grew more popular, the time that you had spent in each other’s presence dwindled significantly, each day becoming lonelier than the last. Your interactions with him had shortened drastically—what were once long, lingering kisses placed on your forehead had devolved into chaste pecks, void of any true care or meaning. While you understood entirely that Clay’s career was important, you found yourself slowly losing hope.

You realized it one day as he was filming. 

It was a day no different from the last. Clay was recording a Manhunt video in his office, his voice shrill as he begged his friends for mercy. He was always loud when he filmed, and though you had chastised him for it countless times, he never listened. A loud sigh escaped your lips, going unheard, and you shifted your position on the couch, uncomfortable. Everyday seemed to be the same—each as lonely and frustrating as the last. Clay’s ignorance only fueled your apathy towards your relationship more, and you couldn’t help but find yourself growing hopeless at the thought of Clay being unaware of your unhappiness. Your troubled thoughts continued until a week had passed—a long, grueling week in which you had hopelessly tried to burrow your apathetic thoughts. But you couldn’t. You were giving up. The realization of your unhappiness made a pit grow in your stomach. You knew that you cared about Clay, but you couldn’t keep living the way you were—tired, unacknowledged, pitiful. 

And so, you let him go.

Clay was editing by the time you gathered the courage to face him, your stomach nauseous as you approached his office door. A light knock signaled your presence, and Clay muttered a quiet ‘come in,’ his voice raspy after hours of unuse. Blowing out a breath, you entered the room, your expression sullen upon noticing Clay’s inattentiveness. His eyes were still glued to his monitor, deeply focused on editing rather than your presence. You waited for a few seconds, silently hoping he would pay you any mind, but he didn’t. A wave of disappointment washed over you, though you managed to keep your voice steady as you declared, “We should break up.” Clay tensed in his seat, suddenly fixated on your words rather than the hours worth of footage he was editing. His chair turned with a quiet squeak as he swiveled around to face you. “What?” You sensed the subtle indignation of his tone as he squinted confusedly at your abrupt words. “We should break up.” You were much quieter this time, unable to meet his eyes as your words died silently in the tense air. You wrung your hands together anxiously as you leaned back on your heels, feeling awkward under Clay’s intense gaze. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you should’ve just stayed quiet and dealt with it. Maybe—

“Okay.” 

Immediately, your eyes flickered up to meet his, filled with a silent desperation as you searched his emerald irises for any indication of his intentions. Nothing. 

“Okay?”

Clay remained silent for a moment, his body stiff as he leaned back in his noisy chair. His expression was inscrutable as he stared at you blankly, trying to find the right words to say as he watched your face remain solemn at his confound brevity. His voice was level as he spoke, “I know I’ve been busy lately. We haven’t spent a lot of time together and that’s my fault. I could sit here and promise to change, but we both know I can’t—not right now.” Though you felt your heart shatter, you knew he was right. His job was too important, too time consuming.

A nod signaled your understanding and you turned to leave, feeling overwhelmingly dejected. 

“Hey.” You turned around to meet Clay’s eyes, noticing the hurt that was settled in them. “I hope you know I care about you.” You fought the urge to cry and shot him a watery smile, struggling to keep your tone unwavering as you agreed, “Me too.”

Two months had passed. 

Clay had been struggling. Everyone knew it—his friends, family, even his fans. It was clear that the once cheerful, happy man had become melancholy, suddenly depressed and unable to hide his unhappiness on camera. There had been numerous speculations of why this was, but only few knew the truth. Sapnap was among one of them and had been staying at Clay’s for the past month, creating content with his best friend while simultaneously making sure he was okay. Though two months had passed, Clay was still a mess. Perhaps it was because it hadn’t hit him that day. He had momentarily convinced himself that his career was more important than you, but deep down he knew that wasn’t true. He wanted so desperately to reach out to you, but assumed you had moved on—another incorrect belief of his. Clay cooped himself up in his home, never leaving unless it was urgent. He had sunken into a deep depression and the only remedy for his pain was you. You. He treated you so poorly. Everyday was a constant reminder of your absence and it was his fault. He could’ve made more time for you, or at least spent the free time he had with you. 

Remorseful thoughts ran through his head everyday, nearly driving himself crazy, and Sapnap knew he needed to get Clay out of the house. 

“There’s a party tonight, I think we should go.” Clay immediately denied the offer with a shake of his head, grumbling to himself. His best friend sighed indignantly, blowing out a breath of frustration before stating, “You don’t have a choice, you need to get out of the house.” Sapnap stood his ground, arms crossed as he stared at Clay sternly. A minute had passed and Clay, aware of his best friend’s stubbornness, gave in begrudgingly, “Fine, but only for an hour.” Sapnap grinned triumphantly, exiting the room with a smirk. He slammed the door behind him, heading back to his room while yelling, “And shave, for fuck sake.” Clay shook his head, cracking a small smile at his friend’s words.

The party was overwhelming to say the least. Bodies swarmed the crowded living room, reeking of alcohol and sweat. Music blared from a speaker, a shrill, nearly deafening melody that was sure to give Clay a headache by the end of the night. The room was buzzing with conversation, every word drowning out in the loud atmosphere. Almost immediately, Clay was passed a beer, and he lifted the bottle to his lips to take a swig. If Sapnap was going to make him stay here, he may as well take some edge off while doing so. A few minutes had passed and he finished the bottle, discarding it in a bin nearby. “I’m gonna go get another drink.” Clay muttered to Sapnap, who was talking loudly to a group of people he’d recognized. His best friend patted his back in response, chuckling as he gave him a playful shove towards the kitchen. Stumbling through the drunken crowd, Clay soon broke free as he neared his destination. He grabbed a beer, opening it skillfully off of the edge of a table, and turned around wordlessly. Taking a big sip, he hoped to free his mind from thoughts of you. Though he wasn’t one to drink, especially when upset, Clay knew that, aside from you, alcohol was the only other solution to temporarily mask his pain. He’d already drank half before he warned himself to slow down, knowing that if he got too drunk, he’d probably do something he regretted. Turning around so he could rejoin Sapnap, Clay nearly dropped his drink on the floor, feeling his heart drop. 

His eyes met yours. And then, he heard the music. 

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner

Breathin’ in your dust.

Clay felt his breath hitch in his throat, noticing the surprise in your eyes as you stared at him, astonished. As he stood there, staring at you shamelessly, he regretted it—everything. He regretted how he neglected you, ignored you, prioritized all of the wrong things when the only right thing in his life was right in front of him: you. Memories flashed before his eyes, quick and familiar, yet saddening all the same. The way you smiled at him from across the room when he was filming, the way you held him when he was stressed, the way you spoke to him, softly, while he was streaming to check up on him. Everything.

I wanna be your Ford Cortina

I will never rust

You looked away, suddenly nervous, though the eye contact was all-too-familiar. You felt your heart begin to race as you processed every detail of Clay’s face—from his anxious expression to the dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked like a mess. But so did you. You mirrored most of his tired, dejected qualities because you, too, were hurting. 

If you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot

Snapping you out of your daze, you felt a tug on your arm. “Hey, you alright?” Your friend asked worriedly. Nodding briskly, you muttered a quiet ‘yeah’ and smiled in a poor attempt to sound convincing. Seconds passed, and you could still feel the intensity of Clay’s burning gaze as your friend tugged you through the crowd, handing you a drink in the process. You dared to look up, instantly locking eyes with Clay, and swallowed thickly. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, not when he was looking at you like that—desperate, longing. 

You call the shots, babe

I just wanna be yours

Lifting up the red solo cup to your lips, you downed its contents quickly, eliciting a few laughs and impressed hollers from your friends. You were never the type to drink, but you felt that it was necessary, especially when you knew Clay was still staring at you intently. Downing another shot, you risked glancing up towards Clay, but he was gone. Suddenly anxious as a result of his absence, you surveyed the room. Nothing. “I’m gonna go get a drink.” You said before you could stop yourself, not giving your friends the chance to answer you before you ventured into the kitchen. You tried to dodge the swaying, drunken bodies as you made your way quickly into the room, frowning upon entry. Clay wasn’t there either. You sighed, frustrated, and grabbed a beer, struggling to open it. You nearly laughed at your incompetence, feeling sadly nostalgic despite the humor you found in your struggles—Clay had always opened your beers, then teased you for being incapable. You fought back an onslaught of tears at the memory and sighed deeply, leaning against the table with your head in your hands. 

Secrets I have held in my heart.

“Hey.” Your body jolted at the sound of his voice. Daring to turn around, you felt your chest constrict at the sight of him clutching your now-opened beer, a sad smile plastered on his tired features. 

Are harder to hide than I thought. 

“Hey.” You breathed. Clay passed the beer to your shaking hand, trying to ignore the way his fingers brushed against yours. Chewing on the inside of his cheek nervously as he tried to find the right words to say, Clay admitted, “I’m sorry.” A few quiet moments passed, though they felt like an eternity, and you replied simply,  “Don’t be.” You tried to hide the tremor that shook your arm as you took another swig of your beer, noticing how Clay’s face fell in sudden disappointment. What? Did you say the wrong thing? You didn’t want Clay to feel guilty, to blame himself for your failed relationship though it was mostly his fault. Why? Because you cared about him. You could immediately sense the despair that washed over him. And, though you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or the pure adrenaline from the moment, you hugged him. 

Maybe I just wanna be yours

I wanna be yours

I wanna be yours

Clay tensed at your touch, wondering if the beer had gotten to him or if this really was happening. It was. He soon wrapped his arms around your waist, grip purposeful as he tugged you into him. Your head rested against his chest, the steady thumping of his heartbeat in your ear far more of a melodic sound compared to any music you’d ever listened to.

Wanna be yours

Clay swayed the two of you softly, resting his chin atop your head. You clung to him tightly, shutting your eyes as he held you, gentle. “I missed you so much.” You admitted before your mind could even process it. Clay chuckled, lowering his head so his lips were close to your ear, “I missed you more, baby.” You tried to fight the grin that plastered itself on your face as you took in his words, squeezing his torso with such force you were sure he’d explode. Clay went to speak again, caressing your sides so gently you could barely feel it, before being interrupted. 

“Holy shit, there you are, dumbass!” 

Sapnap. 

Clay pulled away from you to glare at his best friend, trying to ignore the shit eating grin on Sapnap’s face as he glanced at you. “My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt...whatever the hell I just interrupted. I just wanted to make sure you were alright, but you clearly are.” Before either of you could respond, he left, shooting his friend a thumbs up before disappearing into the crowd. You couldn’t help but laugh at the interaction, noticing the slight rosiness Clay’s cheeks had suddenly sported, embarrassed. “Sorry about that, he…” Clay struggled to find the perfect word to describe his best friend, but trailed off. “Yeah.” You agreed, seemingly understanding what he meant despite his silence. Clay laughed, then. The sound was music to your ears, and when his smile faded, the two of you were serious again. Clay’s hand found refuge in yours as he began to speak, his face solemn as he confessed, “I lied. I can change. I will right now if you want me to—I’d do anything for you.” 

Wanna be yours

You smiled lovingly at the man, interlocking the fingers of his hand that wasn’t already occupied in yours, and pulled him closer to you, wanting him near. 

Wanna be yours

“Deal.”

[contemplativepancakes]

enough to drive a man mad

~7k geraskier fake dating, because that is what this fandom needs. read on ao3 here!

Jaskier smells anxious. He reeked of apprehension all of yesterday, not to mention the fact that he hasn’t been able to sit still or stop tapping his foot on the wooden floorboards this morning. 

It’s grating on Geralt’s last nerve. 

“What, Jaskier?” he finally growls. 

Jaskier jumps, almost falling out of his chair from where he sits tapping his quill idly in his notebook. 

“What?”

“What has you so worked up?”

Jaskier looks Geralt in the eyes before glancing away again. He clears his throat. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts. 

“Oh, don’t sound so unconvinced,” Jaskier complains. 

Geralt rolls his eyes, turning his back to Jaskier to finish settling all of his things into his pack. He wraps the glass jars carefully and tucks them between Jaskier’s shirts, so they don’t break. “If nothing is wrong, you’re ready to go then, right?”

Jaskier grumbles, but he tucks his notebook away and gets to his feet. 

They make it about three hours before Jaskier finally broaches the subject. 

“So, Geralt,” he starts. “Dear friend of mine.”

Geralt doesn’t even bother to look back at him. Nothing good can come with this as a conversation starter. 

“Have I ever told you about my parents?”

“No.”

Jaskier sighs. “I suppose not. Well, they’ve written to me. They want me to visit.”

Geralt thinks back to the letter an innkeeper had handed to Jaskier a few weeks ago, the one that made him eerily quiet the rest of the night and that he had clammed up about when Geralt questioned him. Jaskier was perky and practically completely back to normal the next morning, so Geralt had almost forgotten about it. Apparently, Jaskier had not done the same. 

“Hmm.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Dreadfully inconvenient for you. What will you do without your loyal companion?”

Geralt frowns. He hadn’t even thought about that, just registered the smell of unhappiness coming off of Jaskier at the thought of his parents. Jaskier  is  rather helpful, though. He’s never afraid to step in the middle of pay negotiations, inevitably getting Geralt more coin, and he’s certain Jaskier has stopped them from getting kicked out of at least three towns after Geralt had stumbled back to the inn covered in viscera. 

“Do you want to visit them?”

Jaskier trips over his feet, and Geralt dutifully looks away, pretending not to have noticed. “Not particularly. But I have to.”

Geralt won’t pretend to understand how a typical human family works, so he just accepts Jaskier’s words at face value. He’s never felt  obliged  to return to Kaer Morhen every winter; it’s something he looks forward to—to seeing his patchwork family. But Jaskier deliberately never speaks of his family, and gets twitchy every time anyone brings them up, so Geralt had accepted it as one of Jaskier’s many quirks and moved on. 

“Hmm. Well, I can travel with you there, at least. I’m sure there will be contracts in the area somewhere.”

Jaskier flushes red. “I was...I was actually hoping you would come with me.”

“What? I’m sure that’s not what your parents had in mind when they wanted you to visit. They wouldn’t want to meet  me .”

“Well, they said it’s unbecoming for someone of my age to be a bachelor. And, so I. I, um.” Jaskier scratches the back of his neck. “I told them I wasn’t. And I maybe sort of perhaps insinuated we were together.”

Geralt can feel a stress headache brewing.

-

Marilla looks down at the letter in shock. 

Dear Mother,

I fear I am not quite as much of a bachelor as you suppose. Have you heard any of my songs? I have gone and fallen head first into my muse. Typical, foolish me, but I’ve never been happier. We’ll visit soon. 

Julian

She doesn’t like to think about Julian’s songs, about how he couldn’t even keep the name she had given him. She thrusts the letter to her husband. “He’s coming to visit,” she says in disbelief. “When’s the last time we saw him?”

Ethbert considers this as he reads the letter. “At least five years.”

“And I can’t believe he hasn’t spoken of this ‘muse’ any sooner. I’m not sure I believe him.”

Ethbert gave Marilla a placating smile. “He’s probably just ashamed he hasn’t found himself a wife yet. We’ll find out when he comes, doubtless with an excuse about where his beloved is.”

Marilla sniffs. “You’re right.”

Nell looks down at the scene in the kitchen with wide eyes from her spot crouched down between the banisters at the top of the stairs. Her brother? With a wife? She could scarcely imagine it. She thinks back to the last time Julian was here, the way he had boasted to her about his conquests for hours, away from the prying ears of their parents. 

Well, surely if he had someone, he’d have talked about her in his songs. She resolves to get her hands on some of his music. She’ll solve this mystery before Julian even gets here.

-

“The first thing to know is that they’re awful,” Jaskier says, ticking down one of his fingers as he walks along beside Roach, seemingly uncaring of the dust that’s drifting up from her hooves and onto his doublet. “Well, except for my sister. Be nice to my sister, please, Geralt.”

“I’m nice to everyone.”

Jaskier stifles a laugh. “Mm. Be extra nice to her, then.”          

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You need to loosen up, too. They’re never going to think we’re together when you look all...constipated like that.”

Geralt huffs. 

“You’re lucky opposites attract,” Jaskier says, before dragging a hand down his face. “This is never going to work, is it?” 

-

Nell squints at the lyrics spread out before her. This doesn’t sound very romantic to her at all. Maybe a breakup song?  She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss , Nell hums. She can’t help but notice there’s three different people the song is talking about, though. Odd. She shakes her head and moves onto the next song. 

This one is just a ditty, so Nell turns the page to see a song about the witcher Jaskier travels with. And then another, and another. Is he all Julian writes about? She expected to see love songs, not this nonsense. She goes through more of his catalogue, briefly regretting spending her allowance on the songbook, but she supposes it supports her brother, after all. 

She’ll just have to see what she can wheedle out of him while he’s here. 

Finally, after flipping through no less than four more songs about the witcher, she lands on one titled “The Eternal Flame.” 

Interesting. 

Around your house, now white from frost

Sparkles ice on pond and marsh

Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh

  Spring will return, on the road the rain will fall

Hearts will be warmed by the heat of the sun

It must be thus, for fire still smolders in us all

An eternal fire, hope for each one

There, Nell can read some romance in. She rubs the ends of her hair together in thought. This one song certainly isn’t enough proof that Julian has actually found a wife. More like he’s still pining over some old flame. It doesn’t seem like he’s written very many good love songs at all. 

Nell rolls her eyes, thinking back to all the raunchy songs in his catalogue. Typical. 

There’s the squeak of the door opening downstairs, and Nell hastily slams the book shut and hides it under her mattress. She doesn’t want Julian seeing and getting a bigger head, after all. 

She straightens her dress and runs down the steps, eager to see if Julian’s by himself, which is her guess. She comes to a skidding halt when she sees who is with him. 

Oh.

She supposes he does write love songs, after all. 

-

Geralt shifts uncomfortably from the scrutiny Jaskier’s family is giving him. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, hoping he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. He looks over to Jaskier for help, and Jaskier shrugs off his arm and takes Geralt by the hand, leading him forward to meet them. 

“Mother, Father, this is Geralt. Nell, this is a very large, scary witcher who will eat you up if you don’t behave.”

Geralt frowns. He thought Jaskier told him to be extra nice to his sister?

Nell laughs, a delightful, tinkling thing that reminds him of Jaskier’s. “He’s going to like me better than you by the time he leaves.”

Geralt looks back to Jaskier, only to see him sticking his tongue out at her. Right. Their relationship is definitely more antagonistic than Jaskier had prepared him for, so Geralt is glad he had Lambert to prepare him for these things. 

He’s not sure his interactions with Lambert would be appropriate to apply to Jaskier’s sister, though, so Geralt will let Jaskier handle the ribbing. 

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt finally says. “Jaskier’s told me a lot about you.”

Which, of course, is a lie, but Geralt knows that’s the polite thing to say. 

“He’s never even mentioned me, has he?” 

When Geralt waffles, Nell sniffs dramatically and casts Jaskier a betrayed look. 

Jaskier shoots that look right back to Geralt, and Geralt is so impossibly out of his depth right now. “Hmm.”

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve made him regret agreeing to meet you in the first place!” Jaskier cries. 

“That’s quite enough, Julian,” Jaskier’s mother cuts in, and—Julian? 

He shoots Jaskier a puzzled look. Obviously, there was a little more he should have told Geralt before they came here. 

“Well, I’m afraid we are absolutely knackered; we’ve been riding all day. I’m going to head upstairs…” 

Geralt shoots him a look. 

“I mean,  we are going to head out to the stables and make sure that Geralt’s very polite mare is taken care of.”

“We have someone—”

“No, no, Geralt is very picky about who cares for his horse.”

With that, Jaskier drags Geralt out of the house and to the barn. “I thought the goal was for them to like me?” Geralt asks. 

Jaskier snorts. “Gods, no. The goal is to have them believe that we’re in a relationship, and they would never believe I would choose anyone they actually  liked .”

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Geralt. It’ll be fine. Just stop acting like you’re terrified of me every time I touch you. Maybe we should practice.”

Jaskier gets a gleam in his eye as he darts a glance back to the house, and then his very warm mouth is on Geralt’s. Geralt’s surprised for a second before he relaxes and kisses Jaskier back. He’ll show Jaskier he’s not  terrified of him. Geralt would scoff if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. 

Geralt brings one hand up to rest on Jaskier’s jaw and one to wind through his soft hair. Geralt strokes his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier melts against him, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and tugging him closer. 

“What was that for?” Geralt says, trying to keep his breathing even after they pull away. 

Jaskier peers around him and looks back up at the house. “Well, they  were  watching through the window. Figured we’d give them a show. Alas.”

Jaskier turns and heads to the stables. Geralt trails behind him, surreptitiously bringing a hand up to his medallion to make sure it’s not vibrating. 

He is in way over his head. 

-

Nell stares at them with wide eyes from her bedroom window. She had...not exactly doubted them when Julian showed up with his witcher in tow, but she hadn’t exactly believed them, either. Who could let Julian trail around after them for years and not get sick of him? 

If she hadn’t witnessed them kissing with her own two eyes, she never would have believed it. She pulls the book out from under the mattress and looks at the songs again, this time with a more critical eye. She can’t believe she didn’t see it before. Especially “Her Sweet Kiss.” She’d never admit it to Julian, but she’s glad he won over whoever this  her  is. He looks happy, in a way that he never did while he was here. 

Her mother calls for her, so Nell sighs and puts away the book. She runs down the stairs. “Yes?”

“I need help with supper.”

Nell sets the table, noting they’re using the fancy silverware, which is a surprise, because her mother has never taken a particular interest of what Julian thinks of her before this, so this is an interesting time to start. She’s sure their meal is going to be a very uncomfortable affair. Well, not for her, unless it starts to become painful to hold her laughter in. 

She can’t wait. 

She’s just finishing arranging the cutlery when her mother turns back to her. “Can you believe Julian? I knew witchers were for hire, but I didn’t think their services extended to...this.”

Nell barely holds back a snort. 

-

Jaskier looks over to Geralt and suppresses a sigh. He had just planted a hand on Geralt’s thigh, and he’s sure his parents think that he just stabbed Geralt, from his reaction. He scoots his chair closer over to Geralt and drapes an arm over his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear. 

Geralt does, marginally, but Jaskier can still see the doubt on his parent’s faces. 

Jaskier’s father clears his throat. “So, Geralt, um. I suppose we know what you do, but, um. Um.”

“Honestly, haven’t you heard any of my songs? They are all the very true accounts of what Geralt gets up to,” Jaskier butts in. 

Geralt takes a gulp of wine from his goblet to avoid commenting. 

Jaskier notices, and elbows him in the ribs. “Geralt loves my songs, right?”

Jaskier’s parents are staring right at him, and it’s more than a little unnerving. “Right. They’re...very romantic.”

Jaskier’s grip around Geralt’s shoulders tightens. “Thank you, darling.”

Geralt is sure Vesemir once told him witchers can’t blush, but his face feels hot all of a sudden, and everyone is looking at him expectantly. 

Geralt takes another drink. 

Jaskier shakes his head. “Geralt’s been so nervous about meeting all of you. The poor dear is overwhelmed.”

Geralt shoots him a glare, before softening the look into something more akin to convincing Jaskier’s parents that they’re very happily together. Jaskier hastily bolts down the rest of his dinner before he drags Geralt up the stairs and to his room. 

He shuts the door behind them, leaning against and tugging at his hair. “There’s no way they’re buying this,” he moans. 

“I thought I was being rather convincing.”

The corner of Geralt’s lips twitch, so Jaskier hits him with a pillow. “You did not, you brute! Geralt if you’re doing this on purpose—”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt soothes. “I’m not. It’s just. Acting is not exactly on my list of talents.”

Jaskier crosses his arms and huffs. Geralt tugs him over to the bed and makes him sit down, plopping beside him. “What can I do?”

Jaskier throws his arm over his eyes and lays back, rather over dramatically, if you ask Geralt. “Nothi—Well, actually.”

Geralt does not like the sound of that. He was offering more to be nice than anything. 

“We have to have sex.”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “What?”

Jaskier scoffs. “This is no time to act the blushing virgin, Geralt,” he says, before his hands are on Geralt’s clothes, tugging them and unbuttoning. 

Geralt jerks back, but Jaskier is already done. “There. Nice and dishevelled.”

Geralt gapes at him for a moment, giving Jaskier the opportunity to muss his hair. Geralt growls.

“I know, I know. That took you hours to accomplish.”

Geralt catches his wrist. “Just, hold on a second. What are we doing?”

“We have to consummate my childhood bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says, completely seriously. “Or at least make my parents think we did.”

Jaskier starts moving his hips on the bed, making the headboard brush up against the wall with every gyration. “Mmm, fuck, Geralt, right there!” he cries.

“ Jaskier!”  Geralt hisses, but Jaskier pays him no mind. 

“You feel so good, darling!” He throws Geralt a wink, and Geralt tries not to combust. 

Jaskier undoes three of the buttons of his doublet, revealing a thicket of chest hair. Geralt casts his eyes to the ceiling. Gods help him. “You know, you don’t have to be so stoic all the time, dear heart. You can let me hear you,” Jaskier says, pointedly prodding at Geralt. 

Geralt shakes his head furiously. This is  not  what he agreed to. 

Jaskier gives Geralt a put on sigh before clearing his throat quietly. “Oh, Jaskier,” he says in a deep voice. 

“That doesn’t even sound like me,” Geralt whispers furiously. 

Jaskier just arches an eyebrow, and Geralt knows that’s a challenge. He swings his leg over Jaskier, straddling him and trying to ignore both of their pounding hearts. It’s the heat of carrying out their plan, Geralt is sure, and not at all Jaskier’s proximity. 

Geralt rocks the bed back and forth, making the headboard  slam against the wall now. 

Gearlt gives a half hearted moan, and Jaskier gives him a glare. “You’re making me sound like a terrible lover who’s left you horribly unfulfilled!” he hisses. 

Geralt rolls his eyes and gives a more enthusiastic moan this time. Geralt begrudgingly keeps this up for a few more minutes before he grunts and clambers off of Jaskier. “A little quick to the finish line?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt shoots him a rude hand gesture. 

Jaskier gasps in mock offense. “Why don’t you go get me a wash rag?” he suggests. 

Geralt glares at him; this is taking the charade much too far, if you ask Geralt, but he follows Jaskier’s direction to the bathroom—where Jaskier’s mother is standing. Geralt suddenly becomes conscious of what a mess he must look like right now, thanks to Jaskier. “Hello again,” Marilla says. 

Geralt grunts and nods to her, before remembering he should probably say something, anything. “Hi.”

Geralt grabs a washcloth and flees. 

When he gets back to Jaskier, Jaskier is sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, scribbling away in his notebook, the inkwell balancing precariously on the mattress. He still has his buttons undone, and Geralt curses himself for even noticing. 

“Did you run into anyone?” Jaskier asks. 

Geralt’s disgruntled expression must be answer enough, because Jaskier rubs his hands together in delight. “Excellent.”

-

Marilla scurries back to her room, completely scandalized. She can’t believe they would...defile her home like this. It’s bad enough that Julian couldn’t choose anyone they suggested for himself, and now he brings home a  witcher ? He’s trying to make her gray even faster. 

She shuts the bedroom door behind her and looks to Ethbert. Her expression must linger on her face, because he asks her, “What?”

“They—” She makes a floppy hand gesture. 

“Are you sure? What would a witcher want with Julian? There’s something not right about this.”

Marilla fans herself. “I know. They’re not even wed. It’s impropriety, is what it is.”

Ethbert squints doubtfully. 

-

Geralt is not a morning person. When Jaskier first discovered this, he was puzzled. Geralt is the only person who dictates his schedule, so no one would yell at  him  if he chose to sleep until midday. 

The more Jaskier thinks about it, though, the more it makes sense. Of course Geralt would wake up at the asscrack of dawn; he probably thinks of it as a punishment or some other such self loathing nonsense. 

It’s certainly more of a punishment for Jaskier, because he’s the one that has to put up with Geralt’s bearish attitude every morning. 

Geralt blinks awake and squints at the rising sun like it’s personally offended him, and Jaskier closes his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring. 

“Morning,” Geralt grates out. 

Jaskier’s lips twist into a wry smile. “Good morning.”

“I know you weren’t asleep,” Geralt says, sounding annoyed. “You could have woken me up.”

“Mm. And deal with a grumpy witcher first thing in the morning? I don’t think so.”

Geralt scoffs. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Right.”

Geralt swings his legs out of the bed and begins getting dressed. Jaskier stretches into the warmth Geralt left behind, tugging the blankets up over him. 

What? He never said  he was a morning person, either. “Where are you going?”

“Into town.”

“For what? Do you need things for potions? I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, I’m just going to see if there’s any contracts; you stay here.”

Jaskier gives a sly grin. “Does my family make you nervous?”

“ No .”

“Hmm,” Jaskier says. 

“Shut up.”

“Well, don’t go gallivanting off without telling me where. You know I worry.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “No need.”

Jaskier adopts a high pitched voice. “Why, thank you, Jaskier, my dearest friend. I’m so touched to know someone is looking out for me.”

“It’s pretty sad if you have to imagine someone to be your friend.”

Jaskier splutters as Geralt walks out of the room, a smile tugging at his lips. 

Jaskier sighs as the door shuts behind him, wanting to bundle himself back in the blankets and Geralt’s scent, but he resists the urge and stumbles out of bed to pull on his clothes. 

He makes it down the stairs and to the kitchen, picking up a bowl of eggs and whisking them, the need to be helpful overriding his desire to collapse in a chair and go back to sleep. 

“Good morning, Julian,” his mother says stiffly. “Where’s your beau?”

Jaskier lets himself smile at the image of Geralt’s reaction to being heard of himself referred to as Jaskier’s  beau . 

“He’s out looking for a contract. He’ll be back for lunch, I’m sure.” 

He gives his mother a bright grin. He thinks he should have made Geralt suck a hickey on his neck, but, to be honest, he’s not sure if he could have beared that. Geralt had already been so unbearably close to Jaskier when he  straddled  him. Jaskier’s not sure what had possessed Geralt to do that, all the while expecting Jaskier to keep his hands to himself. 

He’s not sure Geralt’s looked in a mirror anytime in the past fifty years because of the whole monster-staring-back-at-him thing (complete horse shit, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, not that Geralt cares to listen to it), but Jaskier is forced to look at him every day, and he suffers. 

He suffers every time he trails behind Geralt atop Roach, watching the subtle shift of his back muscles as he rides, and he’s devastated when Geralt deems Roach too tired to carry him and leads her in his tight leather pants. If Geralt hadn’t been wearing just such a thing when Jaskier met him, Jaskier would be convinced Geralt does it just to personally spite Jaskier. 

To doom him to look but not touch for the rest of his life. As such, he had never expected Geralt to actually agree to this whole charade. But, he did, and now here they are. Here they are, with Jaskier knowing exactly what Geralt tastes like (less onion than one would expect), but still having to not just kiss the blank looks Geralt likes to give him right off his face. 

It’s enough to drive a man mad. 

-

Geralt looks at the pitiful notice board and sighs. He tugs down the one prospect to examine it more closely. Something is stealing a farmer’s sheep. There’s a few possibilities for what it could be, ranging from minor nuisances to things that he shouldn’t even mention to Jaskier because he’ll nag at Geralt until he lets him tag along, and those are always the kind of jobs that Jaskier should be nowhere near. 

Geralt’s not sure how someone with the survival instinct of a fly larva is still alive, especially when he insists on following Geralt around, but Geralt’s not going to let Jaskier get hurt on his watch. 

Geralt pockets the notice and goes to talk to the farmer who set the contract, but he has very little useful information to tell Geralt. All he offers is that the sheep have been disappearing without a trace. Geralt walks the edges of the property and a bit into the woods, doing a cursory inspection for the carcasses, but he doesn’t find them, either. 

Hmm. 

Geralt turns and heads back to Jaskier. 

-

Geralt’s acting out of sorts when he returns from town, so Jaskier tugs him aside. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt just grunts and shakes his head. 

Jaskier sighs. Typical. “Weren’t there any contracts?”

“There were, just—I don’t know what it is. But I’m sure it will be fine.”

Geralt even tries to give him a bracing smile, and even though it looks more like a grimace, Jaskier knows it’s not good if Geralt has stooped to trying to comfort him. 

Jaskier hums at him and leads him to the table where his family are waiting on them for lunch. Jaskier keeps a hand on Geralt’s knee, because he’s allowed to, at the moment. 

He delights in watching Geralt make awkward conversation with Nell, but it seems like they’re quickly warming up to each other. Jaskier’s mouth goes dry at the thought of them teaming up on him. They would truly be a menace. 

Jaskier’s mood is quickly soured when they finish eating and Geralt insists on heading back out. 

“Shouldn’t you wait until the morning? You know, be well rested?”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s been taking the animals at night. Better chance of finding it if I go now.”

“Geralt, we’re not exactly short on coin right now. Why even go?”

“If I don’t take care of this, who will?” Geralt huffs. “This farmer’s livelihood is at risk.”

Jaskier grins. “Geralt, you unbearable softie. You make me look callous.”

Jaskier darts a glance over to his family, who are pretending not to watch them. He takes that as license to tug Geralt in for a chaste kiss. Geralt stiffens against him, and Jaskier is just about ready to pull away, before Geralt starts kissing him back. He makes it  decidedly  less chaste, and Jaskier puts a hand on his chest. He lets himself savor it for one, two, three seconds before he takes a step back. 

“Geralt, there are children present!” he says in a scandalized tone, grinning at Nell. 

She glares, and he shoots her a wink. 

Geralt clears his throat, and Jaskier jerks his attention back to him. “Right. Well, if I’m not going to talk you out of it, be safe.”

“I always am.”

-

Ethbert watches as Julian paces back and forth as he waits for the witcher to return. “Sit down,” he says gruffly. 

Julian looks at the clock, then out the window, completely ignoring him. Ethbert snorts. Good to know nothing’s changed, then. 

“Surely it can’t take this long to murder one measly little thing,” Julian mutters. 

“He’s fine,” Ethbert says. “It’d take a lot to overpower a witcher, right?”

Jaskier sits down in a huff, and Ethbert starts to wonder if maybe their relationship is less of a farce than he thought. It’s certainly an odd one, and he’s still clueless as to what they could possibly have in common, but Julian is painting a convincing picture right now, especially as he tugs his cloak off the hook and settles it around his shoulders. 

“Where are you going?”

“To find him!”

Ethbert jerks out of his seat with a splutter. “You can’t be serious. You think you’re going to be able to handle whatever a witcher couldn’t?”

Julian pauses. “Well, no. He’s probably lying in a ditch somewhere, slowly bleeding to death. Oh gods, what if he’s out there bleeding to death?”

Julian becomes even more frantic and rushes out the door and to the stables. 

Ethbert resigns himself to a long night. 

-

Jaskier clambers onto one of the smaller mares. He doesn’t have the patience to go through the whole process of putting all the tack on, so he clings to the horse’s neck and prays he doesn’t fall off. He digs into her with his knees, and away they go. 

Jaskier has no idea which way Geralt went, but there’s some fairly fresh hoof tracks in the wet dirt of the road, so he follows them and hopes they’re Roach’s. Eventually, they go off the road, and Jaskier is left to squint at trampled grass. He wonders if Geralt would be proud of his tracking abilities, and he smiles thinking about the inevitable jab. Jaskier would respond with something about how Geralt was no better than a dog sniffing the air, and all would be well.

But first, he has to find him. Jaskier slows the horse to a walk as the trail becomes fainter, squinting as he looks at the ground. He comes to an outcrop of rocks with an opening just big enough to go inside, and he dismounts his horse cautiously. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with whatever calls this place its home. 

Jaskier notices blood, and his heart kicks up a notch. It’s a rust red color, so it’s not very recent. Jaskier follows the splatters, and as he goes, they get brighter and brighter, until Jaskier’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest with the panicked tap dance it’s doing. 

It certainly doesn’t help matters when he finds Roach wandering through the woods by herself. “Where’s Geralt?” he asks, and she snorts at him helpfully. 

Jaskier casts a look at the blood glistening under the leaves underfoot and knows Geralt has to be close. Roach gives an agitated whinny before she turns and trots off, and Jaskier rushes after her. 

In the end, Geralt’s not all that far away. Jaskier sees his hair before he sees anything else, and then he’s sprinting over to him with little thought for anything else. Jaskier drops to his knees beside Geralt. He looks paler than normal, even though Jaskier hadn’t known that was possible 

There’s so much blood, and he’s not moving. Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Geralt? Geralt?” he asks, his voice getting louder and more panicked. “Geralt?”

Jaskier resists the urge to shake him and jostle whatever injuries he has, but there’s bile rising in his throat, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do—

His eyes latch on to the infinitesimal rise of Geralt’s chest, and the pressure on his own suddenly lifts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. Geralt isn’t dead, and he can work with that. 

Jaskier takes a closer look at Geralt and finds there’s a chunk missing from his side. It’s still bleeding freely, and Jaskier tries to resist the urge to be sick. He works Geralt free of his armor with shaky hands, so he can take a closer look. 

Geralt moans and starts to stir, and Jaskier plants his hands on Geralt’s chest. “Just stay still; you’re going to be fine.”

“Jask?” Geralt slurs. 

“Yes, yes, it’s me, and you know I’m far too stubborn to let you die.”

“My pack—”

Jaskier could slap himself for not thinking of that. “Right. Um, your potions.” 

He whistles for Roach, and she approaches skittishly. Jaskier glances back down at Geralt, and his eyes are slipping shut. Jaskier tightens his grip on Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt! You have to stay awake. Do you hear me?”

Geralt murmurs something Jaskier doesn’t quite catch, but his eyes open wider. Geralt’s pupils are so dilated, there’s barely a ring of yellow left around the outsides. Jaskier clambers up to look through Roach’s saddlebags, and his heart clenches when Geralt’s hand comes up to clutch at him as he moves away. “I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes. 

He rustles through the saddlebag. “Fuck, Geralt, do you really need so many tiny bottles?”

Geralt gives him a weak chuckle before he hisses in pain. 

“Which one do you need?” Jaskier asks, hoping Geralt is coherent enough that he’s not about to poison himself. 

Jaskier pulls the pouch out of the saddle bag to show him the options. Geralt points to a few, and Jaskier eyes them doubtfully. He uncorks them anyway, sitting back down and settling Geralt’s head into his lap, helping him get the elixirs down, even when Geralt tries to bat his hands away. 

“Save your energy for something useful, would you?” Jaskier tuts. 

Jaskier prods at the wound in Geralt’s side, jerking his hand back when Geralt winces. “I forgot just how delicate you were, my apologies.”

Geralt barely manages a huff at that, and Jaskier furrows his brows in worry. He pulls Geralt’s shirt away from the wound, biting his lip as it pulls skin away. The wound looks a sickly green underneath all the blood, and Jaskier gasps a little. This is much worse than he thought. 

“Geralt, it’s—Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes have slipped shut, and Jaskier scrabbles at him, trying to make him wake up again, but he stays stubbornly still. The only thing giving Jaskier even a tiny glimmer of peace is that his chest is still rising and falling. 

Tears are threatening to burst to Jaskier’s eyes, but he pushes them down and takes a deep breath. Somehow, he manages to heave Geralt across Roach. Roach snorts, disgruntled, and Jaskier runs a hand over her flank, trying to soothe her. 

He looks around, but he has no idea where the mare he rode out here went. Oops. Hopefully it will wander back to his parent’s estate, but if not, well, will they even miss it?

Jaskier gathers Roach’s reins in his hand and leads her back towards town at a steady trot. 

-

When Geralt comes to, he’s sweltering. He seems to be in a tomb of blankets, and the fire is roaring in the corner of the room. The room? He’s not quite sure how he got here; he would have expected to be lying on the cold ground instead of a soft and yielding bed. There’s even less lumps than he’s accustomed to.

He groans when he tries to move, and there’s a rustling from beside him. Geralt looks over to see Jaskier jerking from his chair to fuss over him. Jaskier’s eyes are red when he finally looks up.

“You promised me you were going to be safe, you terror,” Jaskier sniffs. 

Geralt doesn’t have his wits about him enough yet to be dealing with crying bards. “Hmm.”

“Geralt, you—What was it?”

“A cockatrice. It got me with its tail; spit a little poison at me just for fun.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass.”

This makes Geralt look even grumpier, if possible. Jaskier’s glad; he much prefers that to the slack expression Geralt had had while he was sleeping, and Jaskier was terrified he wouldn’t wake up. 

Jaskier looks back at him, and Geralt can’t help himself when he reaches out to swipe away Jaskier’s tears with his thumb. “I’m fine,” he murmurs. 

Geralt tosses the covers off himself so he can see his wound. It’s wrapped rather nicely, and when Geralt pokes at it, it feels like there’s some kind of poultice under the bandages. He raises his eyebrows at Jaskier, waiting for an explanation. 

“A healer.”

Geralt’s surprised Jaskier found someone who would treat him; most people aren’t too keen on helping witchers. 

“I yelled at him until he helped you,” Jaskier admits. 

Geralt huffs a laugh. “I’m sure he was terrified.”

Jaskier finally cracks a grin. “Hey, you’re not the only scary one around here.”

Jaskier’s eyes drop to his hand, the one that was just on his face, and fuck, what was Geralt even thinking, but Jaskier reaches out and puts his hand over Geralt’s. 

“I was worried,” he says softly. And then, sharper, “Don’t you dare say  hmm .”

“Hmm.”

Geralt laughs, and there’s a warmth that settles in his chest when Jaskier does the same. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Jaskier finally says. 

There’s a lengthy silence, and when Geralt looks up, Jaskier is staring back at him.  

“You got the trophy, right?” 

“Geralt, my ears must be deceiving me. You cannot possibly be worried about that right now.”

“How else am I going to get paid? Last time I checked, you liked to eat. It needs done before something else drags the carcass away.”

Jaskier sighs and huffs and does everything short of stomping his feet before he gathers his cloak from the back of his chair. He glares at Geralt before he slams the door shut behind him. 

Geralt rubs a shaky hand down his face. 

He’s an idiot. 

-

Jaskier grumbles to himself as he makes his way back out into the chilly night. His advances are obviously unwelcome, if this is the kind of punishment Geralt is doling out to him. Well, that’s fine. Jaskier will just let him bleed out next time. 

Okay, he won’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t consider it for a few seconds. 

Stupid emotionally repressed witchers. He can’t say he wasn’t hoping something would happen with Geralt while they were here, but he should have known better. 

Jaskier trudges all the way back to near where he found Geralt, pointedly not looking at the blood stain on the grass.  He’s fine , he reminds himself. Jaskier pokes around for a little bit until he remembers the cave he had seen earlier and some vague knowledge that cockatrices prefer them. 

He’s half expecting another to show up as he plucks some feathers and cuts off the head, for good measure. He almost gags as his knife goes roughly through the bone and sinew, but he manages to keep his supper. He looks around for any last creatures that are just waiting to murder him, but none appear. 

He sighs and makes the trek back. 

When he arrives, Geralt is sitting at the table, talking to his family, and Jaskier wonders for a moment if he should be concerned about a doppler. Nell is eating up every word Geralt says, and Jaskier hopes she has pried some good stories out of him that Jaskier can repurpose as songs later. 

For now, he swings the cockatrice head up onto the table, and silence falls. “There you go, love,” he says cheerfully. 

Geralt is looking back at him with a peculiar expression, and he rises from his chair stiffly. Jaskier rushes over to him to help, and Geralt reluctantly drapes an arm over his shoulder. Geralt leads him to the bathroom, and Jaskier makes sure to say loudly enough for the rest of his family to hear, “Well, if you needed help holding it you only had to ask.”

Geralt huffs in exasperation and shuts the door behind him. Jaskier raises his eyebrows in question. “Did you actually need help, or…” Jaskier trails off, and then Geralt’s lips are on his, warm and hungry, and anymore of Jaskier’s thoughts fly out of his brain. 

His arms automatically come up to wrap around Geralt’s waist, until he registers that this is  Geralt , and he puts a hand on his chest. “Um. Do you need your head checked out, as well? I thought it was your side, but I can go get the healer again.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt growls. 

Jaskier’s not convinced Geralt hasn’t sustained a lasting brain injury, but then Geralt is saying, “I should have done this a long time ago,” and kissing him again. 

What is Jaskier to do but kiss him back? It’d be terribly impolite not to, after all. When Geralt finally pulls away, Jaskier asks breathlessly, “What was that for?”

Geralt shrugs, considering. “You looked kind of hot carrying that cockatrice head. The trachea hanging down really got me going.”

Jaskier stares at him in disbelief for a beat before they both dissolve into laughter. 

“You’re an idiot,” Jaskier says. “You’re  my idiot.”

-

Ethbert looks across the table, where what his son is doing can only be called  terrorizing  his witcher, and harrumphs to himself. This is not exactly who he pictured Julian ending up with, to say the least. 

He wonders the etiquette for having a son in law older than he is. He supposes he’s going to have to find out. 

[morwensteelsheen]

so @tinacharles and I have sort of been having this conversation about the varying levels of culpability of all the men in Éowyn’s life re: her abject fucking misery, which got me to thinking about how that discussion would play out in-universe.

I know it’s pretty popular (and not incorrectly so, imo!) to have Éomer being fairly distrustful of Faramir, but I think it's underplayed just how much ammunition Faramir has to be out-and-out fucked off with Éomer on Éowyn's behalf.

Part of that understatement is a desire, I reckon, to see all the named Rohirrim as basically innocents, manipulated beyond aid by Wormtongue, and functionally helpless until Gandalf and the Three Hunters show up, but that's a take that is, imo, too reliant upon what we get in the movie canon and not reliant enough on what's actually written in the text! The point of Théoden's downfall is that it is his pride and his hubris (and not any magic!) that is his undoing, and it is Gandalf's reminders that his responsibilities are greater than the weight of the injuries to his pride that "brings him back" so to speak. The ability to stop fucking around exists at all moments within Théoden, there is no magic, no great battles, not valiant rescues involved, it's just about him putting his big girl panties on and dealing with his own life. But because there's a tendency to see too much of the movie canon in these characters, their relative culpability in Éowyn's immiseration is largely erased, which is incredibly unfair both in terms of treating these characters with the nuance they deserve, but also in terms of treating Éowyn's misery with the seriousness it deserves!

And a key element of this is Éomer's complacency/culpability in all of this. I often quote the conversation between Gandalf, Aragorn, and Éomer after the Pelennor about Éowyn's ~fundamental unknowability~, but I think it is, uhhh, pretty fucked up that Aragorn, Faramir, and Gandalf are all able to spot out Éowyn's deeply destroyed mental health within minutes of coming into contact with her (and yes, it is true enough that they're all powered-up slightly by magic-ish things) while Éomer, who has spent literally his entire life around her, doesn't really have an inkling of what's actually going on in her interior life. That's really upsetting to me, and is no doubt deeply upsetting and isolating for Éowyn, who has basically no other people in her life until Faramir shows up (you know, after she literally tries to kill herself!).

More than that, when Gandalf and the Three Hunters show up and immediately break Théoden free of his pity party, we don't get a sense that undermining Wormtongue has any actual political repercussions—Hama (👑) immediately names Éowyn as the favoured heir to the throne, which says that she's got a substantial amount of organic support where and when it matters. Yes, it's true they immediately have to go fight Saruman's forces in Helm's Deep, but Helm's Deep is a pretty unique battle in the books for how "small" it is in terms of coalitions: the Rohirrim fight that sucker almost entirely unaided! So if a consequence of unseating Wormtongue had been facing down Saruman's lot on the battlefield (assuming that he would have been prepared to do so at any point before the canonical Battle of the Hornburg), we know that the Rohirrim could have handled it, and what's more, they might have been in an even better position to have handled it, because Théodred would have likely still been alive, alongside however many men they lost at the Battle of the Fords of Isen. A lot of words to say: there's really no indication that there was a danger, per se, to beating Wormtongue's ass down; but we do know that there was some obstacle. Tolkien goes pretty far out of his way to hint that it's a lack of will that's doing most of the work there. As readers, I think we're all mostly content to ignore this element of Éomer's complacency because we do largely see Éomer at his best and most noble, but I think we do a real disservice to both his and Éowyn's characters for not dealing with that more intimately.

Anyways, my original point is that I think Faramir has really good reason to be quite grumpy with Éomer and I think he'd actually probably be supported in that frustration by Éowyn, who would almost certainly be pretty chuffed to finally have someone fighting her corner after so many years. I don't know exactly how Faramir's frustration would manifest—almost certainly not with the level of vitriol and overtness that his frustration with his father manifested itself, but I do think he would be very good at making sure that Éomer is keenly aware that Faramir is Unhappy about his actions/lack thereof. That, I think, adds a really interesting dynamic not just to Éowyn and Faramir's personal life, particularly as they're off starting their lives together, but also their political life, given that Éomer is the new King of the Riddermark, shown to be exceptionally close with both Aragorn and Imrahil, and, of course, is later married to Faramir's cousin—some of Faramir's last living family.

Edit: just picked up the books to double check some stuff so adding cites beneath the cut

On Théoden's 'malady':

"the influence over him that Gríma gained when the King's health began to fail. This occurred early in the year 3014, when Théoden was sixty-six; his malady may thus have been due to natural causes, though the Rohirrim commonly lived till near or beyond their eightieth year. But it may well have been induced or increased by subtle poisons, administered by Gríma. In any case Théoden's sense of weakness and dependence on Gríma was largely due to the cunning and skills of this evil counsellor's suggestions."

From Unfinished Tales, V. The Battles of the Fords of Isen.

On Éomer Missing The Fucking Point:

"But Aragorn came to Éowyn, and he said: ‘Here there is a grievous hurt and a heavy blow. The arm that was broken has been tended with due skill, and it will mend in time, if she has the strength to live: It is the shield-arm that is maimed; but the chief evil comes through the sword-arm. In that there now seems no life, although it is unbroken.

‘Alas! For she was pitted against a foe beyond the strength of her mind or body. And those who will take a weapon to such an enemy must be sterner than steel, if the very shock shall not destroy them. It was an evil doom that set her in his path. For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens. And yet I know not how I should speak of her. When I first looked on her and perceived her unhappiness, it seemed to me that I saw a white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily, and yet knew that it was hard, as if wrought by elf-wrights out of steel. Or was it, maybe, a frost that had turned its sap to ice, and so it stood, bitter-sweet, still fair to see, but stricken, soon to fall and die? Her malady begins far back before this day, does it not, Éomer?’

‘I marvel that you should ask me, lord,’ he answered. ‘For I hold you blameless in this matter, as in all else; yet I knew not that Éowyn, my sister, was touched by any frost, until she first looked on you. Care and dread she had, and shared with me, in the days of Wormtongue and the king’s bewitchment; and she tended the king in growing fear. But that did not bring her to this pass!’

‘My friend,’ said Gandalf, ‘you had horses, and deeds of arms, and the free fields; but she, born in the body of a maid, had a spirit and courage at least the match of yours. Yet she was doomed to wait upon an old man, whom she loved as a father, and watch him falling into a mean dishonoured dotage; and her part seemed to her more ignoble than that of the staff he leaned on.

‘Think you that Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden’s ears? Dotard! What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs? Have you not heard those words before? Saruman spoke them, the teacher of Wormtongue. Though I do not doubt that Wormtongue at home wrapped their meaning in terms more cunning. My lord, if your sister’s love for you, and her will still bent to her duty, had not restrained her lips; you might have heard even such things as these escape them. But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?’

Then Éomer was silent, and looked on his sister, as if pondering anew all the days of their past life together."

From Return of the King, VIII The House of Healing

[gallavictorious]

Could you share more thoughts about the intro and the possibility of aftercare?

Hello, nonnie! I like you! XD

Starting off with why this whole moment reeks of aftercare potential: consider the way that Ian's entire focus is on Mickey, watching him – watching over him – with that small, fond smile on his face, while Mickey is, unusually, not paying Ian any real attention, but is seemingly slightly lost in content (un)thought instead, like he's happy but maybe a little bit out of it? (Hello, subspace.) And then Ian's immediate and rather aggressive reaction when We, The Intruder appears; he gets up to physcially chase us out and close the door (protective much, dom top daddy?) while Mickey remains quiet on the bed, uncharacteristically passive. What other possibility is there but aftercare?

… yeah, okay, I'm sure there are ways to read this scene that does not involve Ian taking care of Mickey while Mickey's coming down from a scene, but I'm personally not really seeing it, you know? Terribly limited imagination, me. 😏

Anyway. While the canonicity of the intros is... well, isn't... I think there's quite a bit of potential in blithely ignoring that to instead try to determine exactly when this moment – that absolutely did happen! – takes place. Just makes for some interesting possbilities, you know?

See, we know that they're in their new place and that they haven't switched the air mattress for Ian's old one yet; that gives us only a very few nights to play with. (Bear with me, I'm halfway sure it's worth sorting this out.)

The morning of 11x11 has very strong first morning in a new flat vibes (with Ian wanting to check out the amenities and Mickey wanting to sort out the practical shit) and given Mickey's general unhappiness with moving, I just don't see them getting up to that sort of stuff on the eve they moved in. Then all of 11x11 takes place during one single day and the last we see of Ian and Mickey then is them getting handsy in their old room. Prior to 11x12 I rather thought they'd spend that night at the Gallagher house, but Mickey noting that they came there to get some of Ian's stuff when Ian has the gall to protest him stealing Debbie's potato masher in 11x12 suggests they arrived there in the morning for that express purpose and thus can be assumed to have spent the night (their second on the West Side) in their own apartment. Considering that they pick up Ian's old mattress and the intro happens with them on the air mattress, I'd argue that we can confidently place that sweet scene either on the night between 11x11 or, possibly, on the night after the anniversary party. (Because they'd want to install the proper mattress as quickly as possibly, sure, but if they don't go home between picking it up and the party I doubt they'll be in the right state to get it up and into their bedroom once they finally stagger home that night.)

Of these two options, I'm leaning towards the former, i.e. the night following them making up and agreeing to stay on the West Side. (After the party I see them being very eager and a bit drunk and not really interested in anything advanced – which would admittedly explain why they might, say, forget their keys in the lock and leave the door open, allowing a concerned neighbor to wander into their apartment. Anyway, I imagine a lot of highly enthusiastic but not necessarily very imaginative sex that night.)

And it's just rather easy to picture it right after 11x11, you know? They're in their old room, kissing and kissing; Mickey has shifted to straddle Ian's thighs. After a little while Ian pulls back, just a little.

”Wanna take this back to our place?” he says and Mickey might have asked if they have to do it right now when things were just about to get real interesting, but he sees the hopeful look on Ian's face so he just smiles: ”Sure.”

So they drive back – home – and maybe they don't say all that much to each other on the way? Things are not tense, not anymore, not at all, but there's something between then; something almost shy, maybe; expectant. As they park the car and move up the stairs Mickey can feel Ian sneaking glance after glance at him and the moment they're through the door, Ian grabs hold of his shoulder and pushes him against the wall, kissing him, kissing him, and pouring all of himself and all of his love for Mickey into that kiss.

Mickey smiles widely into it, the way he often does. He has his hands on Ian's arms and after a while he tries to push back, going for that old back and forth they so often engage in, but Ian doesn't budge at all. He holds Mickey in place, gaze steady and sure and intent as he pulls back just slightly to look at his husband.

Mickey raises one eyebrow, because, oh, okay, it's like that, huh? A particular and familiar shiver runs through his body, anticipation mingling with glee and raw desire. Bring it the fuck on.

Ian brings it the fuck on. Maybe there are restraints and long, slow, deliberate but very loving teasing. Maybe there's dirty words and commands and endearments murmured while pale fingers twists sharply in dark hair. Maybe they have fun playing barbarian and put upon husband putting him in his place. Either way, Ian's entire focus is on Mickey and all the things that make Mickey feel good. It's a very particular sort of makeup sex, perhaps, but that's what it is, really. Or... maybe it's less Ian trying to make amends and more him assuring Mickey, in the language they've both always understood perfectly, that Mickey is seen and known and loved for all that he is, and that he'll always be centre of Ian's world. No need to change; no need to hide.

Once they're (un)done, Ian helps Mickey to his feet. (I believe it's @whatwouldmickeydo who noted that they can't well get up to anything very energetic at all on that unreliable air mattress [and who also wrote a fic I think might interest you, nonnie!], so they've probably been getting busy elsewhere? In the kitchen maybe, where there are convenient counters. Not like they're unused to fucking in places other than the bedroom, so they make do.) Holds him steady against his chest with one arm while he pours him a glass of water with the other. Runs his hand down Mickey's naked back while he drinks.

”You good?” Ian asks once the glass is empty, but Mickey just grunts something intellligble and buries his face in Ian's shoulder. Not incapable of speech, you see; just utterly uninterested in it at the moment.

Ian smiles, privately, fondly, and presses a soft kiss to his husband's damp hair before helping him into their bedroom (after grabbing a convenient chocolate bar for when Mickey starts coming back to himself). Wipes them both down; brings out two pairs of clean boxers; guides Mickey down onto the mattress, never once breaking physical contact.

If there are marks that need seeing to, they are seen to. There are words of reassurance and praise and love. There are little pecks pressed to Mickey's swollen and slack lips, gentle fingers brushing over his face, a blanket pulled up to cover them both. Ian puts his arm across Mickey's chest in half an embrace and smiles as Mickey's hand shifts to rest on it. They lie there, Mickey still floating on feeling so very safe and sore and cherished, and Ian watching him like he's the only person that matters in the whole world; the only person that exists.

(At least until Mickey blinks a few times and stretches his neck from side to side, giving Ian a very much present look as he notes something along the lines of damn gallagher, couldn't you have pulled this shit last night, I'd've been out like a fucking candle and Ian snorts and retorts that he's not out like a fucking candle now so shut up and have some chocolate asshole ❤️)

Those are some of my thoughts, nonnie. Thank you for asking. <3

[annavysoul]

I can confirm, they introduced themselves as 3 readers and they made a post how Bee is leaving and starting their own channel. They even made a post to support it and linked the blog, that's how I knew of the Bee drama. But yknow whatever. But they shouldn't demonize those poor future apouses lmao, it's not gonna be them, or any of us.

Warning very long, I got carried away my bad lol

But the drama on tumblr is kinda mild conpared to Youtube "readers". At least the readers here on tumblr try to hide the fact, that they're describing themselves very well but yoooooooo.... Youtube readers are a different breed. Most of them are super young (12-13, but there are a handful of readers old enough to fucking know better) and just straight up describe themselves with no shame. I even found some who put pics of themselves lmao. Me and my friends like to go through readings and bet, who is describing themselves as a spouse. There is one reader who has over 30+ vids on Mrs. J, and most readings are like over 20 mins long. How much is there to know about a person, that doesn't exist yet??? But most YT readers are obssessed with the fact, that Mrs. J is from India, what a coincidence that the reader is also from India lmao. I'm not saying BTS wouldn't ever date someone from that country, I'm saying it's impossible to get a specific country, age, height, religion etc from tarot cards. The pics on the cards might give you clues and the cards can say that the person is different from you, but they go into way too much detail. And it's funny because they're always soooo specific for Jungkook and V, but for the other ones....crickets🦗 On one hand it's so sad bc you have these little girls, putting out their private info, looks and secrets for the whole world to see (these vids have thousands of views) and they don't really grasp the consequences of their actions bc yknow, their just children. The internet never forgets. But on the other hand, you have these grown women who, like I said, should know better than these little girls. Not only do they get so defensive if you don't 100% allign with what they said, they are borderline so obsessed of the idea of being a spouse. Like tf??? Bts aren't Gods. They're very attractive celebs, who's purpose is to entertain people with their contents and music (hence the word idol & entertainer), while they do feed into that perfect bf material scheme, it's up to the fan to not actually develop real romantic feelings (a celeb crush and being a stan is something very different). Most are actually fans for very superficial reasons, they just find them attractive, not the music. And if you take the glitz and glamour of fame and money away, Bts are regular human beings, with flaws and issues. Like. The. Rest. Of. Us. They only show you the best side of them, because it's part of the whole idol package. We truly do not know these people, no matter how sincere or authentic they appear on camera. Like so so many were suprised that they wanted to disband a few years ago, bc they couldn't handle the pressure. These readers always believe if they meet/marry them, their life is going to be better and they feel alive again or smth. Most of these readers actually need therapy, I don't mean that in a condescending way. They imagine that their spouse, a celeb they've never met, will be their sole reason for their happiness and only then they are able to fix their issues and unhappiness. That reeks of co-dependency. And even if they'd become couple and be public, then what? A really big big chunk of Armys are actually in love with Bts, no matter if they even know tarot or not (Armys usually claim that only 2% of the fandom are delulus but that's definetly not true🥴). You'd get send d*eath threats, be harrassed, get doxxed, be hated for all eternity, even if you'd decided to break up. Look what happend with Jk and the tattoo artist he only hugged. She lost her job bc Armys were reporting her, some were trashing her workplace, she got threats, her friends got harassed and doxxed and she lost a friend (Jk). Not only that, but people would legit stalk you and try to hurt you, if you were a romatic partner of Bts. Then you also have the tarot side, who'd try to curse youa nd paint you as the evil demon, who is toxic to member xyz. And I don't think you'd want to spend your entire life locked in your house. And I personally could never deal with like millions of haters, no matter how hot my partner is.

Yoooo! i search again in yt and watch a couple of videos... these are kids for go sake🥺🥺 where are their parents and why they let them public private infoooo?!? internet and children isnt the best combination...

and yess, theres also grown up women and thats really creepy, u can understand that children might do that cause they are young, BUT WHEN U ARE OLD ENOUGH, U SHOULD ACT BETTER!! and i insist, they just trying to prove to themselves and to the world that they are worth it to be with a celebrity, like yeah of course u are worthy, like any of us, but this is not the way u know? its weird, i dont think its sane at all, they just are using the cards to feel better, and thats bs. and if it is just a cope mecanism, plz work on yourself, get help, life its better when u are in a healthy place

also its interesting about mrs being from india and most of all the videos i watch where from indian armys, tarot doesnt work like that, yeah u can feel the energy that its different, perhaps different culture and think that maybe it could be a foreing, but the cards will never tell you something that specific, less if u dont even know in person the people you are reading for

we dont know them at all, and people put them in a such high pedestal just for being famous and hot, so i really have trouble to think that some tarot readers can pick their real energy, im a very intuitive person, but i need to be in the presence of the person to feel their real energy, so to be so specific in a reading they need to energise the cards with the energy of the person, they need to at least shuffle the cards and connect with the reader, sooo thats why i only see these reads as enterteiment, and its bad for the community to claim that we can see ALL of about them.

i'll never forgive the people who threaten the tattoo artist, poor girl, and thats why the guys cant have healthiest relationship, let them have a LIFE